Extraordinary
by Sensie
Summary: Sherlock realises that he has feelings for John, but John apparently doesn't feel the same. Yet John still doesn't want to give up on Sherlock, although he can't quite tell why he still needs the contact to the Consulting Detective.
1. Prologue

_Okay, so this is my first-ever fanfiction, and therefore also my first-ever post on FF. I think I got the system sorted out a bit now, but it's still confusing._  
 _I should add some stuff nonetheless. This story has never been read by anyone but me so errors might be in there although I tried to proofread it several times. Every chapter except for the prologue is titled after a song which sometimes resembles the atmosphere of the chapter, but more often I just liked a quote of it. You can still go listen to all the songs, I'll list them in the Author Notes._  
 _Reviews will be much appreciated, even if you don't like it. After all, it's my first try to get the characters right. I probably failed very hard. I accept that._  
 _Thanks for reading and have fun! :)_

* * *

"No, Sherlock. No. Just… no."  
Door breaking, silence. Loneliness. Tears, his first tears in what seems like an eternity.  
Footsteps, away from him. Silence again. Sobbing, uncontrollable sounds.  
Cabs leaving, taking him away. Screaming. A sudden realization: his screams.  
His skull. A crack, bone pieces falling down the wall. More crying.  
Mrs Hudson calling. No. No. Just no.  
These words. The same words. His voice.  
 _Extraordinary._

Sherlock was looking at a mess he could barely remember making when his door opened.  
"Sherlock, are you okay? He's coming back, isn't he? He always comes back..."  
Mrs Hudson's voice woke him from a trance he had never felt before. And immediately the pain came back. He had to force back his tears again just to say: "No. He will never come back."  
He turned to the wall, couldn't look her in the eyes. It was too much for him but he couldn't give in now. He had a life of his own, he had never needed anybody, everybody had assured him so.

And still… this felt wrong.  
"Mrs Hudson" he said, turning towards her and trying his best smile.  
"Don't we have a case? I always have work to do. Has Lestrade called? I'm sure he has,"  
His smile felt like an insane grimace, so he relaxed his muscles again and tried not to look creepy. Since he felt like a zombie, that was harder to manage than he had thought.  
Mrs Hudson just shook her head, not sure whether answering was wise or not. Finally, she said: "Oh dear. I'm sorry. I really am. Look what he's done to do. Let me bring you some tea."

Sherlock wasn't sure if he wanted to be alone or not, so he sank in his soft armchair and tried to observe the situation.  
John had left him because he wasn't what he wanted him to be. But… he never had been, right? Sherlock had never fulfilled anybody's expectations so that feeling shouldn't be new to him.  
Instead, there was a big hole in his chest.  
 _Oh John_ , he thought, _what am I doing without you? Are you really better off without me? Are you happy now?_


	2. Chapter 1

**You could be happy and I won't know. But you weren't happy the day I watched you go.**

* * *

 _Snow Patrol - You could be happy_

* * *

John was sitting in Mary's flat trying to decide whether to think about what happened or not.  
"Honey, are you okay? You look upset."  
Mary brought him tea and sat next to him on the couch. John sighed.

Upset wasn't the word he would've used to describe his feelings but on the other hand, he didn't know how he looked at the moment. Maybe he didn't show anything from what was going on inside him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted Mary to know.  
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine."  
Blatant lie. She knew it. She didn't ask.  
"Just… a bit of a rough day, you know?"  
John sipped at his tea and let Mary put a hand on his shoulder. She leaned in to kiss him, but John just moved his head slightly so her lips met his cheek. He didn't know why but somehow he couldn't stand her striking distance.

"I'm… I'm going to get some fresh air. I'll be back in twenty minutes, I promise."  
He didn't wait for her to answer but jumped up and nearly ran out the door.  
As soon as he felt the cool air on his skin he started inhaling it until his head hurt.  
Sherlock, this goddamn sociopath.  
 _Sociopath._

Sherlock loved him. How could this have happened? He'd been at John's wedding, goddamn it.  
John felt the need to smash his fist against the nearest wall but that would only attract attention. And what he could use the least now were people.  
He stepped some inches forward but couldn't think of anything helpful to do now, so he went back to the door.  
He leaned against it as he wasn't ready to go in yet, but he already felt his anger vanishing. He was sad now.  
Sad that he'd lost a friend like this, sad that he couldn't talk to Mary about it. He didn't even know what held him back. Maybe it was his loyalty to Sherlock? But why should he do this, after what had happened today?


	3. Chapter 2

**Every night I remember the evening. The way you looked when you said you were leaving. The way you cried as you turned and walked away.**

* * *

 _Scouting for Girls - This ain't a Lovesong_

* * *

The longer Sherlock thought over it, the more it seemed just like a nightmare to him. The only thing that proved that this had actually happened was John, who refused to speak with Sherlock again.  
Normally, he was there at least once a day, checking in on Sherlock, asking if he was fine and if there was a new case. But it had been four days now and there was nothing.  
Even Lestrade noticed his absence as he finally called Sherlock to a crime scene to ask for help.  
"Are you working alone today? Is John on vacation?", the DI asked and Sherlock flinched at the mention of his name. He forced himself to shake his head, then tried to focus on the hints they had. It had been a murder, and a rather interesting one, but he just couldn't concentrate. All he could think of was how wounded John had sounded when he had finally spoken. Sherlock didn't understand why, how could it be bad to be loved? Sherlock hadn't expected that there was an immediate change in their relationship, but John had looked like he had been insulted.

 _Focus, Sherlock, focus!,_ he tried to tell himself but he wouldn't listen. There was a corpse lying right in front of him, everything he had ever needed before, but it wasn't enough now.  
They were in a small house that had been empty for years, and according to the smell it had taken about a week to discover this body.  
"Sherlock, do you have something? I can't give you much longer, and you know that. Please tell me that you can help us."  
Oh, this Lestrade. Never shutting up.  
Sherlock sighed annoyed and turned around to face the DI.

"Our victim has been dead for six days, this can be confirmed by your team. The woman was ready to go out when she was murdered, which happened with a sharp knife and just one precise stab from the front. On the way to her favourite club she came here, so she had been distracted by something. Someone."  
"Why?", asked Lestrade. "How can you tell she didn't want to meet someone here, a secret lover? After all, it's a nice empty little house."  
"Although this house looks nice and renovated, it's actually been empty for some years now. Most houses in this area have been. And she was on the way to a club, as the time card in the pocket of her coat clearly shows. She's going there every friday for Lady's Night, and she clearly fancies the first DJ. He has nothing to do with this, though.  
This place isn't exactly on the way to the club but she came here nonetheless, that means she was following someone that asked her to come here. No sane woman would go with a stranger on a friday night so it must've been someone she knew. Her eyes started to look shocked, combined with the wound in her chest it was someone she liked a lot, and the stab came as a total surprise. She was not married, though, so it can't have had anything to do with any sort of affair."  
He grinned at Lestrade but it felt wrong so he started to think about everything again.  
"I'm missing something. What am I missing?"  
"John?", offered the DI who was uneasily shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
Sherlock spun around and threw an angry look to Lestrade.  
"Shut up", he pressed through his teeth and left the room with large steps.  
"Sherlock" shouted the inspector who was left behind, but it was no good: the detective wasn't coming back.

Sherlock left the building and wanted to call a cab, but he didn't know where to go anyway so he just leaned against the wall.  
He didn't want to go back to Baker Street, this wonderful flat that he had shared with John for so long. Wonderful John... The empty flat now screamed _you're alone! He left you! You were wrong!  
_ He couldn't stay here, anyway, the police would chase him away eventually. So he just started to walk, to run, all those narrow streets he knew by heart where nobody would ever find him. He wanted it to rain like it always did in those silly movies John had made him watch, to wash away the tears that were streaming down his face again, but the night was untypically clear and the moon seemed to laugh over him.

Finally, Sherlock broke down, gasping for air to breath. He had actually lost track of where he had been running, so he turned around and tried to recognise the buildings.  
When he realized where he was, he stumbled back in shock. It was the building of their very first case where Sherlock had nearly died. John had saved him from the pill that might have been deadly. But John wasn't here to save him now, even though Sherlock needed him so much. John would never save him again. John would lead a normal life with his _wife_ Mary and his _kids_ , without danger or riddles. Perfectly _ordinary._


	4. Chapter 3

**We all have unfinished business to tend.**

* * *

 _Rise Against - Sudden Life_

 _So this is the next one, not sure if anyone is interested in it but some people visited the story and I actually got one review! Yay! So I'll just go with it a bit. :)_

* * *

John couldn't take it anymore. He needed to talk to Sherlock, know how he was, what would happen now. It was late already, but he didn't care. Sherlock would open the door. At least he hoped so.  
He wrote a note for Mary who was taking a shower right now and she would probably be mad when he got back but he was too numb to care about it. The only thing he could think about were Sherlock's words.

 _John. I know you do not believe I am capable of feelings. But I am. I found that out a while ago. I know you do not think I am able to love. I know that I was the one who told you love would be a human error. I was wrong. I have to admit I was wrong, but please do not laugh now, because this is already very hard for me.  
_ _John. You showed me that I can care about other people. And that love doesn't have to be bad, that caring can be an advantage.  
_ _What I am trying to say is...  
_ _John. I think I fell in love with you._

He cursed silently, then he called a cab. While it was driving to 221b, he tried not to think what he would find there. How would Sherlock react to seeing him again? How would John himself feel?  
Surely it couldn't go back to how it was before, but their time together had been so special, how could they give up everything they had had now?  
Finally, he arrived, still way too early, but then again, he would never be ready for what was coming.  
Fortunately, he still had a key to the flat so he could sneak past Mrs. Hudson. He really liked the landlady, but he didn't want to explain what had happened to her boys.  
He took a deep breath, then he walked up the stairs where it was completely silent. No shooting, no violin playing, no cursing, no crying. Never had it been so quiet here, but John was sure that Sherlock was at home because his coat was lying downstairs. He never left the house without his coat and it was already alarming that it was just left on the floor.

When he opened the door to the living room, his eyes immediately began to water. The whole room was filled with smoke and breathing hurt like hell.  
"Sherlock, what the - .. are you trying to kill yourself?", he shouted through the smoke that barely smelled like cigarettes. John didn't want to know what Sherlock had been taking, he just wanted him to stop.

"Oh, the drugs are working. Good. I had hoped they will distract me, but I should have known that it's you I will see."  
His voice was low and numb, and it broke John's heart to hear him like this.  
"Sherlock, it's me. Please, open a window and come out of this mess. We need to talk."  
"Yes, of course it is you. It will always be you, and that's what's killing me. But if you have any influence on what's happening, if the John in my head is anything like the real John, please, leave me alone."  
He didn't want to do this. John just wanted to leave, not to hear, not to see his friend like this, but he knew he couldn't just go. If he left Sherlock again, he would never forgive himself, not after what he had seen just now.

With large steps he crossed the room and opened the window, then he turned towards the armchair he knew Sherlock was sitting in.  
"Sherlock. I don't care if you think I'm not real. I'm here and I want you to come out with me. I mean. Come out of this room, not.. you know."  
The smoke cleared a bit as John waved his hand through it, and Sherlock finally appeared in John's sight. A bit blurry still but at least something.  
"I just wonder... if you're not real, can't you at least tell me what I _want_ to hear?  
... I guess not. I guess I know you too well to trick my mind, even like this."  
Sherlock sighed and John tried to think of something to say that could change his mind. He was growing desperate but the detective seemed to be so stubborn... He had always liked this but right now he would have rather Sherlock get out of this room without arguing.  
He was already thinking about just grabbing Sherlock by the shirt and pull him out of the smoke when he heard him say: "Fine, you won. Just this time, don't think you can always haunt me."

John grinned, a bit relieved that Sherlock wasn't able to see it. Quickly, he left the room and took a deep breath as soon as he stepped out of the house.  
Surprisingly, Sherlock really appeared in the door behind him, with his reddened eyes wide open.  
"It is impossible that I am still hallucinating. The major effects of the smoke should have stopped by now, but how can it be that you are still standing in front of me when you should be with Mary right now?"  
John couldn't help but smiling a little desperate before he answered: "But I'm here. I couldn't sleep anyway, and I needed to talk to you. Because you're my best friend and I care about you. And I want you to be okay, I really want that, but I can't... you know..."  
John couldn't say it, so he just trailed off and avoided looking at Sherlock.

"Love me", the detective finished the sentence for him and John could hear the pain in his voice.  
"Yes. I'm sorry Sherlock but I can't change how I'm feeling", John said with a voice that wasn't as steady as he had hoped.  
He swallowed and wettened his lips with his tongue before he continued to speak.

"But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see you like this. You shouldn't do this to yourself, you can't destroy this body, this _extraordinary_ mind. I'm not the only one out there. What about your friends? Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly? They all care about you. Be a little less selfish and keep it together."  
As soon as he had said it, John was sorry for his words but they were true, so he didn't take him back. If they kept Sherlock from hurting himself they were good enough.  
"Ynghthrplng", Sherlock whispered, eyes locked at the ground.

"Excuse me?", John had to ask, the voice of the detective being way too low to understand anything.  
"I said" he took a deep breath, "you _are_ the only one. You are the first and only one that made me feel accepted, wanted, and you are the only one I will ever truly care about. That will ever truly care about me, at least enough to save me.""  
As before, John was lost for words. How could it be that Sherlock only cared about him when everyone else showed their concern whenever they came to see him? How could Sherlock not care about the feelings of anyone else just after he had found out how feelings worked? He should know that being left could break you. He should know that this was unfair to everyone.  
Then again, he had never cared about that.

John sighed.  
"God, Sherlock, you can't do this. Not to yourself, not to anyone out there. Please, think, just a little bit. How do we feel seeing you like this, how would we feel if something happened to you?"  
"It wouldn't matter", Sherlock muttered, but he sounded a lot less certain than he wanted to.  
Not only did it hurt to hear John talking to him, to do what he had always done, taking care of him; but he also started to feel guilty now. He thought that after telling John how he felt, after seeing John leave him, his friend would feel better not having him around. Instead, it seemed to be worse than ever. When was the last time he had seen John this miserable? He couldn't even remember.

His trail of thoughts were interrupted by a slap, and suddenly Sherlock's cheek started burning.  
"What.." he started, but of course he knew what had happened.  
John stood right in front of him, his hand still in next to Sherlock's face, trembling slightly.  
"I… I am sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to do this. I.. I should go", he said, uneasy, and turned to walk away.  
"John!", Sherlock cried, but it didn't matter. Even if John came back, it would never be like before again. He slid down the door and sat on the stairs that connected the flat with the pavement. As expected, John wasn't even turning around, and he knew that he had messed it up for real this time.

What he couldn't see were the tears rolling down John's face. He should be angry, should shout at Sherlock for letting himself go like this, but instead he wanted to go back and hug the detective. Of course, he couldn't do this. Not after all that happened. But the wish remained.


	5. Chapter 4

**Here on this road of no release, pale reign of misery that even time cannot erase.**

* * *

 _Blind Guardian - Road of no Release_

 _Still short for a chapter but... I'll try to change that in the future. Right now, I just have some small conversations to be said, both because I'm not creative enough and because John's patience is just so short right now that he will stomp out of everything unpleasant as soon as he can xD Hope you still like it. :)_

* * *

John was just around the corner as a well-known black car pulled up right next to him and he sighed. This was the last thing he needed right now, but he knew Mycroft well enough to be aware of the fact that he couldn't hide.

Resigned he opened the door and slid in next to a woman that wasn't Anthea for a change. He didn't bother to look at her, and she didn't even greet him, so he just stared out of the tinted window and wondered what to tell the elder Holmes brother. That he had hurt Sherlock so much that there was no hope left?  
He wasn't sure if that was the case, but Mycroft tended to be quite short-tempered when it came to his little baby brother.

But when he arrived at the empty hall where Mycroft had decided to meet him, he got surprised by a cheerful Holmes that was definitely out of position.  
"John, the man of the hour! Aren't we all happy to see you?"  
He was holding a cup of tea and toasted to him with a mocking smile.  
"Mycroft..", John replied, shifting his weight from his bad leg to his good one. Suddenly he wished he had brought his cane, even though he hadn't needed it for years. Was it all getting worse again?  
The flouting voice next to his ear forced him to focus on the present.

"How are we feeling, Doctor? Are you sleeping enough? Or is it maybe the weather that upsets you?"  
John winced a bit when he realised that this was Mycroft's anger, carefully wrapped in layers of scorn, and suddenly he was scared.  
"Mycroft, I assure you, I didn't want any of this to happen. What should I have done? Smile and nod and say 'Yes, Sherlock, whatever you want, Sherlock, doesn't matter what I feel, Sherlock'? Because I've done that for some years, but I am a married man now, and I'm going to be a father. I have to take responsibility for my family now, not only for a wannabe-sociopath that needs caring."

He spat out those last words and only after it felt how wrong this all was. In his head it hat sounded so justified, but now the words were hanging in the air and John just wanted to crawl in a corner.  
"Maybe not leave him in a cloud of drugs, worse than before! You either help him or keep your distance, or I promise you, I will take every step possible to make you feel what he felt - unwanted.  
Have you ever felt unwanted, John? Have you ever felt the glares of everyone around you, knowing that they'd rather want you gone?  
I assume not. You were always the favourite boy in class, weren't you. Everyone liked you, everyone wanted to be your friend. And even though you had quite a couple of failed relationships before you found your wife, there was always a next woman.  
I thought you might be different, John, and seeing how Sherlock is acting now, I was right in at least one aspect.  
But you're still like everyone else, aren't you. You don't understand my brother, and no matter how hard you try, you can't save him. After all, you're just another ordinary human.  
So I suggest you stay away from Sherlock and let me try to prevent the worst. Seeing how fast this escalated I am not sure if I will be in time, but I will try everything in my power - as I always do."

Mycroft's speech left John lost for words, but before he could even process what exactly was happening, Mycroft's phone rang and disturbed the tense atmosphere.  
The elder Holmes listened for a while, then his brow furrowed and he ended the call.  
"John. We should end this. I apologise if I inconvenienced you. I am sure we will be able to find a solution to this minor problem, don't you think?"  
His smile was a bit creepy, but the doctor was just glad to escape Mycroft, so he nodded relieved and followed (this time) Anthea out to the car.  
He stopped surprised when he noticed that this wasn't the vehicle he had been brought in. But Anthea already held open the door and Mycroft said goodbye, so he got in without questioning it.

Only after ten minutes he realised what was different about this car: The windows weren't tinted, they were completely black. Where did they bring him that he shouldn't know before?


	6. Chapter 5

**When we build these dreams on sand, will they all slip through our hands?**

* * *

 _Rise Against - Rumors Of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated_

 _Yeah, so.. I'll just keep going a bit. :)_

* * *

As he got out of the car and recognised St Bart's in front of him, he frowned in confusion.  
"John, thank god you're here. We were trying to reach you, but you didn't answer your phone", Sarah almost shouted at him. John searched his pockets until he remembered that his phone had indeed been in the bedroom and he hadn't bothered to take it with him.  
"But why am I here? I am sure I didn't sign up for the night shifts, and you have other people for emergency calls", John mumbled, still confused.  
"They didn't tell you? Oh, John. I am so sorry. Please, follow me."

Panic was rising in the army doctor, these words sounded like someone had died, and John was suddenly so scared that Sherlock had overdosed or hurt himself in any other way that it came like some sort of shock to him as he entered the hospital room after Sarah and saw Mary in the bed at the window.  
"Mary!", he called and tried to hide his surprise and embarrassment that he hadn't thought of her first.  
"What happened to you?!"  
Slowly, she turned her head and looked at him with tired eyes.

"I slipped in the shower… I called for you but you weren't there… Oh, John, where did you go?", she asked quietly and John could hear the pain in her voice.  
A wave of guilt swept over him and made him want to sit down and cry.  
"I… I went out, didn't plan to stay long, I left you a note, I didn't know… How bad is it?"  
Trying to change the subject didn't help him feel better but he wasn't that uneasy talking about Sherlock now. Or rather, trying to not talk about it.  
"I'm fine, just…", Mary swallowed and John thought he'd seen a tear in her eye but she turned her head away.

"I lost the baby, John. I lost our baby", she whispered, and if she hadn't repeated it, John wouldn't have been sure if he had understood her right. He froze in shock at the realisation of her words, then he sank on the empty bed next to her and buried his face in his hands.  
"I am sorry… I am so sorry, so sorry…", he repeated a couple of times until sobbing took over his voice.  
"Where have you been?", Mary asked, barely louder than before. John thought about making something up but he couldn't think of any situation that would've sounded important enough except for the truth.

"I… had trouble with Sherlock, some nights ago. Went to check on him to make sure he's okay. He'd been smoking… something, and I'm worried about him, but this doesn't justify leaving you alone, I know. I am so sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."  
John felt really miserable right now but of course he couldn't just expect her to forgive him for it.  
"If I can do anything to make this up to you, please, please, tell me."  
He felt like a thirteen year old boy again, asking his mother for forgiveness, and suddenly he felt so small. Everything he did recently was a mistake, everyone around him got hurt because of him. Couldn't he do anything right?  
"It's… fine", Mary said hesitantly.  
"You probably couldn't have done much anyway."

 _Except for being there for me_ , she added in her thoughts, but she didn't want to argue with John now. She was so weak, and she had noticed that something had been bothering her husband. She was angry that he had just run off but on the other hand she could understand it. She probably would've acted the same way.  
"Tell me about Sherlock", she asked and tried a small smile.

"He's… not good. Had smoked a lot of something weird and thought I was a hallucination. I'm really worried but then they called me here and of course this is more important." He skipped the part with Mycroft and that he didn't even had his phone with him but Mary wouldn't notice anyway. It wasn't even important, he hoped.  
"I am sure Mrs. Hudson has an eye on him and Mycroft would never let him do anything really stupid", he tried to reassure more himself than Mary. She just shook her head and smiled sadly.

"It is funny how you're trying to convince yourself of a truth that would be so much easier to like. But John, I know you, and you are the most loyal man I know. And I know one thing that also never changes: If Sherlock Holmes calls - actively or indirectly like today - then you'll come running to protect him. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, because it's a very honorable character trait, but I will always stand back against him."

John was reminded of his conversation with Jeanette some years ago, but the fact that his wife just told him nearly the same things made him uncomfortable. But before he could answer, Mary continued talking: "You know, I thought I was different. I patched you up after Sherlock's jump and I thought we connected somehow. All that we've been through together… But I should've known that i will always be him, and I don't want to stand in the way of this. Maybe the accident today was a sign. A warning that what we're doing is wrong. Maybe… you should take more care of Sherlock and we should… you should leave now, I think."

Her voice trembled but the words still came out firm and hard and they made John angry. Now even his bloody wife thought he was in love with Sherlock Holmes!  
"You're probably confused because of the hormones in your body. You should maybe sleep a bit before you do anything you'll regret."  
His voice was calm but not in a good way. Everyone who knew the ex-soldier was aware of the fact that this only meant the oncoming end of his patience.  
But Mary wasn't scared. She was annoyed and also at the end of her patience, and she could be as stubborn as John, if not even more.

"These are not the hormones, John, and you know that. But I don't want to discuss that now. Please, just leave. I won't go anywhere, I can promise that."  
She looked tired but still produced a dry laugh.  
"So… so this is it, then? This is us? Are you trying to tell me that you just want to end this because I failed to be there for you once, after all this time?", John raised his voice until Mary flinched at every word.

Calming, she said: "No, John, I'm not saying anything like this. But it's late, and you haven't really slept these last days and I'm weary and tired from the meds they gave me, so… Let's talk about all this tomorrow, when we both had some rest and can think more clearly."  
John saw reason behind her words and nodded slowly. Without anything else, he turned around and made for the door. Just as he was about to leave the room, he stopped and said: "I'm sorry, Mary. I tried my best."

Disappointed, he walked out, not sure if he just admitted something he'd rather kept hidden - from both Mary and also himself.


	7. Chapter 6

**Is there a god tonight?**

* * *

 _Rise Against - Life Less Frightening_

 _Yeah, it's Rise Against again.. Sorry! The next chapters will vary a bit more, I promise! Also, I'm sorry for not posting much. Exams, and a vacation at my mum's place (I'm still there at the moment so.. Updates are still coming slow. Sorry.) and then there's still my insecurity about posting because the existing chapters haven't really been read or reviewed or so. But I figured it doesn't matter. I'll keep on writing anyway so I can keep on posting, and this way at least some people that might be interested can read it. :) Thanks to everyone who reads this._

* * *

Outside of the hospital, John looked at his watch before deciding what to do now. He didn't really want to return home and just wait for tomorrow, for the talk with Mary. He wasn't sure what to expect of it anyway, but there was no point in thinking too much about it.  
Since it wasn't that late - well, late, but not too late to go drinking, he figured - he decided to just get his phone from the flat and call Mike to ask if he maybe wanted to get a drink or two. Or five. He wasn't sure yet.

As he entered the flat he immediately saw the chaos created by the paramedics and he suddenly wondered who had called them. Had the neighbours heard Mary's shouts?  
He shrugged and continued to the bedroom. He could clear up all of that later.  
He found his phone on their bed, next to Mary's phone. Had she left it there on purpose or had she just forgotten it?  
Didn't matter. _Watson, you're being paranoid._

John grabbed his phone and went into the living room again to sit on the couch. He just selected Mike's number in the contact list as his phone started vibrating - incoming call. For a split second John hoped it might be Sherlock but the name on the display said 'Greg Lestrade', and of course, even if Sherlock decided to contact him - which was bloody unlikely - he'd rather text. Sherlock never called unless he had to. If he was about to jump from a rooftop for example.  
With a small and bitter sigh John answered the phone: "John Watson."  
He had chosen not to greet Greg directly, although he couldn't tell why. He wasn't really in the more for more discussions, maybe he had wanted to sound more distant.  
"John, hey, it's Greg… Greg Lestrade", the DI said. "Listen, I heard what happened with your wife and… I can understand if you want to be with her now, I just wanted to say if you need someone to talk to or not talk to… I know that we never really had to do with each other but I still consider you a friend. You probably knew this but just in case you didn't. Anyway, I'm always available."  
John could almost see the inspector running a hand through his hair like he always did when he was nervous. And he was nervous, John could hear that.

"Actually, Greg, I just wanted to go to the pub. I could really use some distraction after these past few days so if you're free I'd be happy to meet you there."  
Greg wasn't Mike but he'd probably understand him better if John decided to actually talk about it.  
"Awesome. Same pub as every time?", Greg asked and John had to grin. They'd only been out together two times, but they already had some sort of regular pub. So John confirmed and turned off all the lights in the flat before leaving. He felt relief overwhelming him as he stepped on the street although there was absolutely no reason for it. He had lived there for almost two years now and he had always felt comfortable in Mary's flat. What had suddenly come over him?  
He shook his head and started walking to the pub, that was just around the corner, and arrived there just after Greg.

"John, good to see you, mate. I already ordered for us, beer should be here soon", the inspector said, waving from his table in the corner. John was thankful that he hadn't chosen a place at the bar. He didn't want that much attention right now.  
"Thanks, Greg", he said, sitting down. Their beers came and for the first half of their glasses they just sat in silence, watching the people in the pub.  
The DI broke the silence first: "So, how is she and what exactly happened?"

John thought about what to tell him, then he settled for the truth. Greg had never been one to judge too fast , so he might probably be just the right person to talk to.  
He cleared his throat and explained how he had talked to Mycroft when Mary had apparently slipped, and that he had been brought to the hospital to find out she had lost the child.

"Man, I'm sorry to hear that… But tell me, what did Mycroft want from you? Does this have to do with the weird way Sherlock's acting recently?"  
John flinched. He had wanted to keep Sherlock out of this, if even just for his own sake, but he should've known it was impossible.  
"Kind of… Look, can you keep something for yourself without thinking bad of me, or Sherlock, or.. anyone?"  
Suddenly he just wanted to talk about all of it. He needed to share his situation with someone, and so he was really glad as the other man nodded and took another sip of his beer.

And so John told everything, from the afternoon Sherlock had decided to tell him that he had developed feelings for him to his weird feeling in the flat. When he was done, both of them were already halfway through their second beer.  
"Geez, that doesn't sound good", was all Greg said to John's story. The doctor nodded.  
"No idea what I'm supposed to do now. I mean, I don't want to lose Mary but seriously, I can't just let Sherlock do… whatever he does."  
"No", the inspector confirmed. "Had him on a crime scene two days ago, he couldn't even tell me anything else than the obvious about the victim. And I thought you were on vacation…"

He sighed and ordered more beer. John was grateful for that, right now forgetting seemed the best solution to this mess.  
"You know", Greg continued after a while, "we always made jokes about Sherlock and you being a couple. Even I joined in, but I swear, I never thought it could be a problem."  
John just waved it away. He didn't want to dwell on the past now, and Greg had done so much for both of them.

He realised he was thinking about Sherlock and him when instead, there should be Mary.  
The thought scared him and he shook his head to get rid of these thoughts and took a large gulp of beer.  
"What will you do now?", Greg asked curiously but John only shrugged. If he knew that he probably wouldn't be here, drinking.  
"I'll just wait until tomorrow, I guess. See what Mary says. She seemed pretty determined so… I just hope she comes to her senses."  
Greg looked a bit surprised but chose not to say anything.

"So. You said something about crime scene. How's it going? Hope I'm not keeping you from important inquiries you have to make?", John asked, mainly to kill the silence that had grown quite uncomfortable.  
"Ah. Found the killer already, he's in custody right now. It was her neighbour, but we haven't found out why yet. Since we had no real help from Sherlock at all this time, we actually have to rely on clues and what the murderer says. All that's left now is a bit of paperwork, but I can still do that tomorrow. Or next week. Or never. So don't worry about it."  
Greg smiled slightly, then emptied his beer.

"Want another one or are you done for tonight?", he asked, gesturing towards John's empty glass.  
"Actually, I think I should go. The flat's a mess and I want to at least get something right. Thanks a lot for the talks and… hope to see you around."  
There was a sad finality in this goodbye, both men knew he probably wouldn't run to crime scenes with Sherlock anytime soon, if ever again. Yet, the inspector only smiled and stood up to give John a friendly pat on the shoulder.  
"You're welcome, mate. Good luck with your women and see you soon."

John's heart felt warm as he left the pub and for a moment he felt like he'd just been on a normal night out. Then he walked around the corner and into Mary's flat and all the memories came back. Sighing, he kicked off his shoes and started cleaning up.  
The cushions from the couch had been swooped to the floor and all chairs had been pushed to the walls. On the table lay some med bottles that John assumed had been left by the paramedics, he threw them into the bin without even looking at them.  
When the living room was made presentable again, he decided that he could do the rest tomorrow. Nobody would care tonight.

The next morning, he was woken up by Mary's phone getting what felt like one hundred text messages in a row. He cursed and rolled over to grab the mobile, which was still lying on the bed where he had found it yesterday. He wasn't curious - well, okay, maybe a bit - but he figured if someone had tried to meet her, they wouldn't know about her accident, so he accessed the phone. It was only three messages, all from an unknown number.

 **09:35** How did it go?

No name or made John even more curious. How did what go?

 **09:38** Darling, you promised to text me yesterday

Darling? Who called his wife darling? He hoped there was a name in the last one, so he could show that idiot who he was messing with.  
He was disappointed.

 **09:40** Are you okay? I'm worried. Text me back now.

John could do that. With slightly shaking fingers, he typed:

 **09:42** Here's John, Mary's husband. Who are you? And how did what go? Please, respond, I have other ways to find you if you don't.

He didn't have to wait long for the buzzing to tell him he got a message.

 **09:44** Oh, John. Hello! I am a friend of Mary's. She wanted to text me yesterday, about a… surprise we both planned for you. Since I don't know if it succeeded I'm afraid I can't tell you more. Why are you replying on her phone by the way? Is she okay?

A surprise. Well, he had gotten that. Fast, he replied:

 **09:45** A friend that calls her darling? I am not sure if I like that.

He completely ignored the question for her well-being, he wasn't sure if he wanted the other guy to know. This response took a little longer.

 **09:50** Oh shit, you think I'm a guy and she's cheating on you! My name's Sophie, don't worry about me. I'm happily taken and definitely straight, I won't go for Mary. She's lovely, though, my congratulations!

John snorted. Definitely straight, he'd heard that one before.  
A shiver went down his spine as he remembered that it had been him that always insisted on these words to be true.  
He shook his head. He was definitely straight, and god damn it, so was Sophie. Or she had to be.

Annoyed, he decided to end this conversation here, and put the phone on the night drawer. He had to get up and prepare for the discussion with Mary. He wondered if he could just not go to the hospital since she probably had no way of reaching him, but that wouldn't solve his problems anyway.  
So he sighed and got dressed.


	8. Chapter 7

**When it all comes down, will you say you did everything you could?**

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 _Rise Against - The Eco-Terrorist In Me_

 _(Yup, it's Rise Against again. Sorry.)_

 _Also, I love your reviews. Even if there are just two of them. Thank you for reading this! c:_

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Before he went to see his wife, he took a cab to Baker Street. He didn't really know, why, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

As he opened the front door, he immediately bumped into Mrs. Hudson, who shrieked and jumped a little.  
"John", she exclaimed, then pulled herself together.  
"I'm sorry, you startled me. I just wanted to go out, you know? Anyway, are you two okay again?"  
John had no idea if she meant Sherlock or Mary, but he was alright with neither of them, so it didn't matter.

Smiling apologetically, he said: "Hello, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to talk to Sherlock, make sure he's okay… He wasn't yesterday."  
The landlady nodded knowingly, she had probably tried to talk to Sherlock several times already.  
"Good luck with that one, I don't know what to do with him. I told him you'd come back but he just wouldn't listen! Anyway, I'm late. See you around, John, and thank you for coming!"  
And with that, she stepped past him and disappeared.

John sighed and began to walk up the stairs, increasingly nervous with every step. As he entered the living room, he was almost nauseous, and seeing Sherlock lying on the sofa like a corpse didn't help.  
John immediately ran to him and felt his pulse, only to jump a little when the detective opened his eyes.  
"I am still alive, John, no need to check on me every ten minutes."  
So he had been hallucinating. That was never a good sign.

"Oh bloody hell, does this start again! If you took enough to see things, I should put you into hospital and check on you every ten seconds!", John nearly yelled and then felt bad as Sherlock flinched.  
In a lower voice, he continued: "The only reason I'm not doing this is because I know I can fix you here, and Mary is in hospital, so I don't want to go there at the moment."  
Sherlock sat up and looked at his friend curiously.  
"You're real", he stated without any further explanation, and John didn't want any.

"Yes, I'm so bloody real I could punch you in the face and break your nose! So you'd better be serious about anything you say or do, because I am!"  
The consulting detective didn't seem to listen to him, instead he said: "You say Mary's in hospital. It's something with the baby… But there's more that upsets you… Something happened and she wants a divorce. Why would she want that?"  
 _Oh, something he can't deduce. Great._

"She lost the baby and thinks I'm in love with you. There's something weird about it, though. I can't get rid of the feeling she planned it, or there's more to it or anything."  
He saw the look on Sherlock's face and wanted to punch himself.  
"But I haven't come here to talk about my wife. I wanted to see you're okay. Which you are not, obviously. So I have to make it better, somehow. Sherlock, tell me how to help you."

The last words were so soft something broke in Sherlock and he had to stand up and turn away from John to wipe his tears.  
"There is nothing you can do. I am broken and beyond fixing. I should have realised that years ago, when everyone told me so, but it needed you to open my eyes. I guess I should thank you for that, John."  
A horrible truth began to dawn in the army doctor as he listened to Sherlock's words.

"Sherlock… How often did you already tell me this? Or at least the imagination-me?"  
The detective just waved his hand and it was enough for John. He burst forward and threw his arms around his friend's trembling body, holding him in a tight hug. Sherlock stiffened immediately, turned around and tried to step away from John, but the doctor didn't loosen his grip.  
Instead, he caressed Sherlock's back, drew him close again and murmured: "Shh, relax. It's fine."  
The detective sighed and let his head fall onto John's shoulder. After a while that felt like only seconds to Sherlock, John did step back watching his friend cautiously.  
"Sherlock, I…"

He found that he didn't know what to say, so he shut up, but of course Sherlock couldn't just let it go.  
"Yes?", he asked warily, all too prepared for another excuse to take back John's actions.  
"I can't lose you like this", the doctor whispered instead and stared down at his hands.  
"I already thought I'd lost you once, and I can't go through that again, not ever! Please don't make me lose you!"  
Tears fell down his cheeks, slowly and lonely, and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from hugging John again.

"You will never lose me, I will always be here for you, no matter how hard it will be. I apologise for not realising this before, but I will do everything in my power to see you happy. Please, don't cry anymore, John."  
John nodded hesitantly, then gathered a tissue from his pocket to wipe his face.  
"I'm sorry, love, it's alright now. I didn't want to hurt you. I never ever wanted to hurt you, I hope you know that."  
Sherlock froze.

"Love?", he asked, his tension clearly hearable. John flinched and said: "Did I say that? Shit, I'm sorry, Sherlock, it was kind of automatically, I didn't even think about it, please don't think too much of it. The rest is true, though. I am very sorry!"  
He let go of his friend and stepped back to get some much needed distance. His head was swirling with thoughts. Had he really just called Sherlock love? He couldn't even recall what he had said. But why would he do that? He barely called Mary pet names, to think he thought of his best friend as love was… disturbing.  
"John…", Sherlock started, but his voice died and the doctor didn't want to hear it anyway. Luckily, his phone rang and he shot an apologetic glance to Sherlock before answering.

"John Watson."  
"John, it's Sarah. Listen, I really don't want to get involved but your wife left her phone at home and asked me to tell you to visit her. She's not in a very good mood, though, so better bring flowers or chocolate or everything."  
John sighed. Seemed like he couldn't avoid this discussion any longer.  
"I'll be there in a bit. Thanks, Sarah, and… I'm sorry."

He ended the call and turned to Sherlock.  
"I got to go, need to talk to Mary. I'll check again on you tomorrow, alright? Please, promise me you don't do anything stupid", he said as lightly as possible. Sherlock only snorted.  
"So typical of you. She calls and you come running."

He immediately regretted his words when John said sadly: "You know, it's kinda funny, but yesterday Mary accused me of the same thing - regarding you."  
He turned on his heels and left the flat, pretending to be calm but wanting to sit down and cry.  
It was weird, only Sherlock ever made him want to do that. That was not fair, to anyone.  
Cursing himself, he called a cab, never ready to face Mary.


	9. Chapter 8

**I tried to be perfect but nothing was worth it. I don't believe it makes me real. I thought it'd be easy but no one believes me. I meant all the things I said. If you believe it's in my soul I'd say all the words that I know just to see if it would show that I'm trying to let you know that I'm better off on my own.**

* * *

 _Sum 41 - Pieces_

 _This will probably be it for the next two weeks because.. real life and stuff. Thanks for reading! :)_

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"Oh, the great John Watson finally shows us mercy by arriving", Mary greeted John mockingly as the doctor entered the small hospital room. Molly, who had come up in a break to keep her company, jumped and murmured something about important work before hurrying out of the door without looking at either of them. Mary couldn't blame her, she hardly wanted to be here herself.

"Hello to you, too, Mary", John said slowly and he looked so tired that Mary instantly felt bad. It probably wasn't easy for him as well. However, she couldn't continue like this, and if she didn't want immediate change, she at least wanted answers. And if Mary wanted something, she normally got it. Except when Sherlock bloody Holmes and John bloody Watson were involved.  
Determined to make this work, she smiled and said: "I'm sorry, darling, I'm a bit messed up. It was all so much, you know…"  
John only nodded. He knew bloody well.

"About what I said yesterday… It wasn't the hormones speaking. _But_ I still feel left out. There's something you didn't tell me and then, you keep running to Sherlock, trying to find excuses instead of saying you want to see your best friend - which has always been enough reason before. You look fed up, you barely sleep, even your limp is bad again! John, I beg you, what happened?"

It hadn't even been a long speech, and yet it tired Mary so much she fell back into her pillows. John shifted his weight.  
"I am not sure if Sherlock would want me to tell you", he said stiffly, trying to avoid an answer.  
"I can call him if you want, ask him myself", Mary offered.  
"You don't even have your phone", her husband shot back and she resisted the urge to throw her hands into the air.  
"Oh, for goodness sake, John, do we have to dance around the topic and argue like preschool kids?"  
He didn't have anything to say to that and Mary felt that she had struck a good point.

"Please, honey, let's just talk about this and then let's be okay again. I miss you", she admitted and felt her heart ache as she spoke the truth out loud.  
Instead of answering to her questions, John asked: "Who's Sophie?"  
"Sophie? How do you know about her? She's… an old friend that I didn't have contact with for a long while until we ran into each other just last week or so."  
She hoped he wouldn't avoid her question now that he had his answers, but luckily John's sense of fairness got hold of him.  
"I checked your phone this morning, to see if I needed to tell anyone that you're in here. But to be fair, you shouldn't get unsigned messages that have 'darling' in them!"  
Mary laughed out loud. That meant Sophie hadn't told him anything important, and if he thought she was cheating on him, well, then there was at least a chance he might understand how she felt.

"So, about Sherlock?" She wouldn't just let this go.  
"Fine", John sighed and reluctantly he pulled a chair to her bed and sat next to her.  
"He told me he loves me, I left him alone, he took drugs, possibly trying to kill himself, more than once, I tried to talk him out of it and left him alone again and he's probably worse that before now. That doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I love you, and I never wanted anything to change between us."

Mary nearly laughed at the absurdity of these words, of course he wanted everything to stay the same. Having a good job with female colleagues that adored him; a wife that did everything for him, being pregnant with his child; a best friend that might as well be his boyfriend, clever and handsome… Who wouldn't want all that?

"The thing is, John… I want the situation to change. I don't feel like you value me enough. You take me for granted, you always have, ever since you met me. It only worked between us because I accepted the fact that Sherlock Holmes would always be your number one, and who couldn't understand that, with his mind and all. But you know, carrying your child made me realise: I don't want to be just the wife. The one that waits at home until you finished your adventures with the most important person in your life. The one that cooks you food and cleans your room so you can be happy even at home, when you're not with the greatest mind in Britain.  
I want to be your everything, the person you come home for, the one you want to survive for when you're chasing criminals.  
Can I be that for you? Can you see me like this, for me, for yourself? Because that's the only way I want this - us - to continue."  
Mary had to catch her breath and needed all the strength she had to keep her eyes open. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

"Mary, I love you, and you're the only one for me. I thought you knew - " - "Stop lying to me, and to yourself!"

Mary almost yelled, then regretted it, but John sighed and seemed to think, so perhaps it had been just the right thing to do.  
After a while, John said: "I do love you, and you _are_ my number one, but… I accept that maybe I didn't show it enough. I didn't want you to feel that you come only second, after anyone, especially now. I am very sorry and I hope you'll give me the chance to make it up to you."  
It sounded a bit stiff, but it was probably the best Mary would get so she smiled.

"So there's nothing between you and Sherlock? You don't feel anything for him?"  
"He's my best friend, and that will not change. And I will try to make sure that he's getting better now, because we both know that he's a big unsensible baby and I'm probably the only one who can keep him away from drugs."  
Mary nodded. That sounded reasonable enough, she only hoped that she could be reasonable right now. But that was to be found out soon enough.  
"Alright. Thank you for being honest with me", she started and blinked confused when John started laughing.

"That sounds like I just told you I cheated on you or spent all your money or so."  
Mary couldn't help but giggle. He was totally right.  
"I'm sorry. Anyway, I feel totally wasted and I should sleep right now. They say if I feel good by tomorrow evening, I might be discharged the day after, so… Can you tidy up our place a bit? And maybe text Sophie what happened and that I'm fine? That would be great."

John nodded and bent over to kiss her forehead, and it filled Mary with indescribable joy. That small gesture signalled enough love and affection to nearly make up for the last week, and she was optimistic for the first time in a while that was longer than she wanted to admit. Even with the loss of the baby - maybe they could still be a family.  
"I'll be back tomorrow, honey. Sleep well", her husband said with a small smile, then left the room.


	10. Chapter 9

**All I want to do is be more like me.**

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 _Yeaaah, so I'm back. Last weeks have been a bit messy here, and I'm still a bit messy because I'm always messy, so no guarantee that this chapter is kinda good. If you find any mistakes, please point them out to me, I haven't even proofread this chapter. Sorry! I'll try to be faster with writing in the next weeks, but then again, I think I always promise to try that. Woops! Have fun and please tell me what you think of it!_

 _Linkin Park - Numb_

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As soon as John had left Mary's room, he pulled out his phone and started to text. He didn't know if Greg was free or if he even wanted to listen to him again, but since he already knew what was going on, John wouldn't have to tell more people about his problems.  
He sent the message and sighed. This seemed to get out of control so fast, he felt lost.  
He didn't even have the time to enter the elevator before Greg answered and John smiled.  
"Be there in ten." That meant John had to hurry, but to his luck he instantly found a cab and arrived at the pub just in time.

"Hey, Greg", he greeted the DI, who smiled and waved in return.  
"John, good to see you in one piece. The way you talked about your wife yesterday made me fear she'd eat you alive today."  
They both laughed and entered the pub, where they sat at the bar. It felt like a huge improvement to John, away from the secret table in a dark corner to a place out in the open, where everyone could see, hear and talk to them. It was silly, but it cheered him up a bit.

They ordered beer, and before Greg could ask about Mary, John wanted to know about the case.  
"I understand if you can't tell me details, but.. Are you making progress?"  
The DI smiled.  
"I guess you already know so much about so many cases, this wouldn't make a difference. But yes, we found a lot of new evidence today, and right now the others are checking alibis of like twenty people. It's a bit of a mess, but I think with some hard work, we can close it by the end of the week. And all that even without Sherlock's help."  
He looked proud for a moment, then he seemed to remember who he was talking to and his face fell immediately.  
"Sorry…" - "No worries", John answered, "I'm glad you're on the right track."

For some minutes neither of them spoke until Greg couldn't wait any longer.  
"So, what happened today? I don't want to push it, but you looked pretty desperate last night and you wouldn't have called me here if everything was okay."  
John smiled a bit nervously, then recited the conversation with Mary. For some reason he couldn't explain he left out Sophie. Somehow it didn't seem right to him.  
"You know, I really tried my best with her. I'm not good with people, no matter what anyone tells me. But it felt so right with her. And now she tells me it was wrong all the time. I promised her to try harder, to make it better, and I really want us to get okay again, but… What if I don't feel good with this 'new' marriage? What if the only way she wants it is the only way I don't want it? What if I fuck this up again?"

He was asking question nonstop now, stupid questions, pointless questions, feeling desperate and annoying and annoyed and lost and suddenly he just wanted some tea, and armchair and crap telly.  
"John, listen to me", Greg said with a soothing voice. He didn't sound like the tough detective inspector anymore, more like John's mother, from what he could remember when she used her calming voice. That made him even more miserable, but he listened.  
"You should find a compromise, one that works for both you and Mary. And if one of you isn't willing to look for one, then you should rethink the situation. Don't give yourself up for your wife. It's never worth it, believe me."

He sounded so bitter that John wanted to hug him, but that wouldn't be appropriate. Also, John would never feel comfortable hugging other men, he was sure of that.  
"I know, at least I tell myself that I do. But now that she lost the baby… She need me, in a way that I'm not there for her, and it's all my fault and then I feel like I'm lying to her all the time although I'm telling her everything I know and even this Sophie person makes me insecure and I'm not used to being insecure!"  
John almost shouted the last bit, then looked around, embarrassed that someone might have heard him talk about his feelings. He'd never really done that anyway, why did he have to start now?

"Wait a moment, John, who's Sophie?", Greg asked and the doctor blinked confused. Hadn't he mentioned her last time? Ah, no, that had happened this morning. The last days had been such a mess, it seemed so blurry to him now. Or was that the beer? He hadn't eaten anything today, he might react a bit to it, and he had already had two… no, three.

"John?", the Di asked again which brought him back to the present.  
"Oh, sorry. She's a friend of Mary's, apparently. Wrote her some weird texts this morning, and because Mary had left her phone at home, I felt kinda… obliged to check them."

He had the decency to blush here, but Greg only nodded.  
"And you've never heard from her before? How long do you know Mary now?" - "Three years. And Mary said she doesn't have any friends because of a … complicated past past. She picked up some acquaintances since we got married, but normally she told me all about them. She accuses me of having secrets, but why would she hide a female friend when I never complained about her male ones?" - "You're right, it seems weird. Did you ask her about it?"  
John nodded and explained what his wife had said, but also added that it had sounded a bit weird to him. Although recently, everything sounded a bit weird in his ears. He just wanted things to be normal again.

"Mary isn't the type to cheat on you I think… From what I know, she's the most honest and open person I've met. This all feels so off, I don't even know what to tell you. I'm sorry, John."  
John wanted to laugh. His wife, honest and open? Not after what had happened last year with Magnussen. But of course he couldn't tell Greg about that. Friend or not, the inspector would definitely have to investigate if he knew that Mary had shot Sherlock.

So John just shrugged and emptied his beer.  
"You want another one? It's on me", Greg offered, so John just agreed. He hadn't counted his beers, but one more was okay, he was certain.  
"I just don't know if what I do is right. I want to be Mary's husband, the father of her child, the one and only for her, but that doesn't mean I want to give up everything else. Just because we're married doesn't mean we can't have friends, right?  
And I want to see Sherlock happy, solve cases with him, be his friend, but… It seems I can only do all of that if I'm his boyfriend, and that's just not fair, is it? How am I supposed to love him when I'm in love with Mary?", the doctor complained as soon as he had had a sip of his new beer.

Greg considered this for a moment, then looked him in the eye and said: "You know, I can't really help you making a decision, but you should just take some time and get clear about your feelings. You need to be unbiased, it doesn't matter if you think you're straight or gay, it doesn't matter that you don't want to give up Mary because you kind of just married her, all that matters are your feelings. Think about that, then you can act.  
I should go now, tomorrow will be a long day again. Get some rest, make up your mind tomorrow and then we'll have a look at the situation again, okay?"

He stood up and John waved at him. He wanted to keep sitting a bit, he didn't trust his legs right now. Maybe it had been a beer too much, but what did it matter?  
Greg had implied that he could be in love with someone else than Mary, and John hadn't even felt hurt about it. That really confused him.  
He kept pondering about that without coming to a solution until his head hurt and he decided he should go home now. He was a bit wobbly on his feet, but he didn't knock anything over on his way out so he supposed he was fine.

It took him ten minutes longer that normal to get home, but finally he sat down on his bed and didn't know what to do now. He should probably go to sleep but so many different thoughts were racing in his head, he just couldn't.

He lay down on the bed, didn't care that he had all his clothes and even his shoes still on, and stared at the ceiling. His life was a mess. How had it ended up like this? All the time before, he'd had clear structures in his life.

His childhood had been normal, he'd had normal friends that played with him at normal times, on the playground or at home. He'd been good in school because he always did his homework, always studied, always did what his parents said. When he went to college, they had been so proud and he had done everything to let it stay this way.  
And here he was, lying on his bed, probably drunk, the second day in a row, his life totally screwed up.  
When had it changed? When his father died? His mother had broken down and he couldn't cope, but he had gone to the army then, and if that wasn't structure, he didn't know what was.

Had it been the bullet in his shoulder?

Had it been Mike, whom he hadn't seen for years, bringing up old memories again?

Had it been his mother who had refused to talk to him again, leaving him to deal with Harry?

Had it been Harriet herself, calling John when she was drunk, messing up her own life and wanting John to fix it?

Or had it been Sherlock?

John shook his head. It didn't matter. He was here now and he had to get on with his life.  
So he rolled over, got Mary's phone and wrote Sophie. He still wasn't sure what to think of her, but she seemed to know more about Mary right now than he did; and also mary had asked him to tell Sophie she was okay, so it could only help to ask her some questions while he was at it.  
With slightly shaking fingers, he typed.

 **23:32** Sophie, are you still up? John.


	11. Chapter 10

**Fear is like a tree that grows inside of me, silenty.**

* * *

 _It's just a short chapter, I'm sorry, I don't really have time this week. I promise to work more on it next week! :)  
Thanks so much for all the feedback, I really appreciate it. I will have a look at the paragraphs next week as well! I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it's pretty short :s_

 _The Rasmus - Open My Eyes_

* * *

John didn't have to wait long for an answer. He could only imagine Sophie sitting in front of her phone, impatiently checking it for news on Mary. That's how he would've reacted, but then again, he was Mary's husband.  
He dismissed the thought and read the message instead.

 **23:32** John! Or course! How's Mary? Why do you keep replying on her phone? One should think you're spying on her.

That hurt. Then he remembered that Sophie didn't know about the hospital and it made sense. Kind of. However, he didn't want her to ignore him as soon as she got her answer, so he just went on with the next question. Some smalltalk might be nice, he guessed, plus he didn't really have a plan on this. He just knew that something felt wrong and he'd be damned if he couldn't figure it out.

 **23:38** So, how long have you known Mary? She never talked about you, must've been pretty serious differences you two had.

It might have been a bit low to mention that he'd never heard of Sophie before, but it was true enough. Funnily, she agreed.

 **23:40** I'm not surprised she never talked about me. I'd rather not tell what happened, though. It's as much Mary's secret as it is mine, and we swore never to tell anyone. Just know that I met her when we were both seventeen.

That was the most text John had ever gotten from her, but it only left him more clueless. Secrets were never good, not with the Mary he had gotten to know.

 **23:43** A secret? Well, she certainly has more of those. How long haven't you seen each other? You must be crazy because you missed her.

Or not, if they hated each other. It's hard to overcome hate, though.

 **23:45** Yeah, she was one of my best friends. It was almost ten years, and I'm very glad we talk again. I'd love to get to know you, too. When will Mary be back from the hospital?

John wasn't sure if he liked this Sophie-person, or if he'd like to meet her. But on the other hand, she was a good friend of his wife, so a good husband wouldn't say no to them.  
While thinking about all that, he found something weird rereading the message. He couldn't quite pin it down until he reread the whole conversation, then it was obvious as a street sign: He had never mentioned Mary being in hospital. That was weird, very weird.

 **23:51** How do you know about the hospital? I never told you, and Mary's phone is here.

There was a long silence and John almost thought he had scared her off. If she had a decent answer, she would text him right away, wouldn't she?  
He lay back the phone, watching the ceiling again while waiting. When the message came, he nearly threw himself on the phone to read it.

 **00:14** I'm sorry, my partner just woke up and asked what I'm doing. Anyway, Mary asked a nurse on the hospital to tell me since she couldn't text me herself. Very tragic, I am so very sorry about your child, John.

A nurse. Sure. Just after John had promised to tell Sophie that Mary was fine, she sent a stranger to text her all the details. That sounded so very wrong.

 **00:18** I'd like to meet you in person, Sophie.

It sounded weird and desperate, but John didn't care. Something had to happen here. And slowly, a plan formed in his mind.

 **00:23** That sounds like you're hitting on me. I told you, I'm taken. And don't you dare cheat on Mary.  
 **00:25** A double date. You and your boyfriend and Mary and me. Next week, as soon as Mary is okay again.

It wasn't a question, but he didn't want to ask. He wanted this to happen and he wanted to know what was going on. Mary and her bloody little secrets, he definitely had enough of them by now.

 **00:29** Sure. Text me the details about it as soon as you have them. I'll go to sleep now, though, and you should, too. It's late. Good night, John.

He didn't answer on that. It was enough for him. Should this Sophie-person sleep, he'd make plans in the meantime. He knew perfectly well what he would do tomorrow, besides from getting Mary home, and he would get behind this mess.

While still thinking about his scheme, his eyes fell shut and he drifted off. His dreams showed Mary and Sherlock, arguing about Sophie, who remained a shadow in the middle of them, and slowly they disappeared in the distance without John having even the slightest chance of getting near them. The scenery changed and he was suddenly on the hospital roof. Mary lay in a bed next to him while the Sophie-shadow dragged Sherlock to the edge. His feet were like glued to the ground and he could only watch the shadow dragging his best friend over the edge and John's screams filled the air, along with Mary's laughter.


	12. Chapter 11

**I am finding out that maybe I was wrong. That I've fallen down and I can't do this alone.**

* * *

 _Paramore - My Heart_

 _So here you go! I tried to add more paragraphs this time, and I edited the last chapters as well. :) Hope you like it better, and thanks a lot for telling me about it!  
This chapter is a bit longer and I'm quite happy with that. Hope you are, as well! I still suck at Sherlock's deductions, but I tried to fit some not so obvious stuff in it. :s  
As always, thanks for reading! More to come, soon! :)_

* * *

The next morning, John woke up, feeling very uncomfortable in his jeans, and his head seemed about to explode. He remembered vaguely the dreams he'd had the night before and groaned. Without opening his eyes, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, then slowly blinked. The light didn't seem to kill him. That was good.  
He grumpily rolled over to rummage through Mary's bedside table. Since the later stage of her pregnancy, she always kept Ibuprofen there.  
Sure enough, he found the small package and swallowed one of them dry.

He was just about to shut the drawer again when a small med bottle rolled into sight. It didn't look like any bittle he'd seen before, and he had prescribed a lot of medicaments already.  
Curiously, he picked it up, but it was unlabeled. Inside were eight white, round pills that didn't look particularly familiar. A lot of pills looked like that.  
What had Mary been taking there?

Hesitantly, he stood up and pushed the container into his pocket, determined to figure this out later.  
He hadn't spent most of the night awake just to change his plans now.

After some consideration, he took Mary's phone as well, telling himself that she'd probably want to have it as soon as possible.

Then his common sense kicked in and he headed for the shower. He could barely go out in his clothes after having slept in them, and he probably still smelled like pub.  
What had he been thinking?

He left his clothes in the bedroom, nasty habit when he was alone, but he couldn't help it. It felt good.

After a quick shower, he got dressed and just wanted to get the phones and the weird med box from his trousers as he discovered that the latter was missing. Startled, he searched through the pockets again, then scanned the floor and even got down to his knees to look under the bed.  
It just wasn't there

John swore silently, then threw his hands in the air in defeat. He didn't really have time for this.

With a glance on his watch, he left the room and let the door shut with a loud 'Bang!'.  
Should the neighbours know he was angry.

Halfway across the living room, he came by the bin and saw the med bottles he'd thrown away yesterday.  
They looked like the one he just had in his pocket.  
John jumped a bit in surprise and then laughed at himself - mostly to cover up his confusion.  
From himself.  
Whatever.

He swooped up the pill containers and just rushed out of the flat in case they decided to disappear again.  
Or he was just going insane and this was his subconscious trying to give him very obvious hints about it.  
Either way, he had a plan to fulfill.

He arrived in Baker Street just some minutes later, but he was nervous all the same.  
The last times he had seen his best friend (because he refused to think of him as anything else) hadn't gone all too well, and he was afraid to mess this up, too.

As he entered the flat, though, everything seemed normal and he calmed down a bit. That was a good sign.  
"Sherlock, are you home?", he called and immediately got a muffled answer from the bedroom.  
He seated himself in his armchair (because really, there was no one else that had a claim to this chair) and waited.

Ten minutes later, a clearly distressed Sherlock in his dressing gown practically fell down onto the sofa.

"Hey there", John tried a light tone but it came out flat and cold. He coughed to conceal it but of course, Sherlock knew how he meant it. He always knew everything.  
Bloody genius.

"I have no intention on helping you with your little paranoid quest about your child. It's gone, accept it, make a new one, whatever. Just leave and let me get back to bed."  
John winced.  
"If you think I'm totally fine in this situation, you're wrong. And I thought you might be interested in something to do. Doesn't look like you're on a case right now."

He didn't want to fight but he already felt the anger and pain build up in him.  
Sherlock wanted him gone just to let himself go, wanted to let his mind, his masterpiece, rust in this shell. John felt so hopeless, so worthless, seeing this.

"Look, Sherlock, this is hard for all of us, can't we try to get along? I promise, I won't discuss with you and I'll go whenever you need me gone. Just… not this, alright? I miss you. Very much. So let's try this my way, please?"

There was some shuffling as Sherlock rolled himself up the other way, and John was almost sure he'd heard a whispered "But what if it hurts too much?", but as he asked him he just shook his head.  
Seconds later, the detective sat up in a flash and asked: "So, what made you so suspicious about Mary and the lost child?"

John explained the weird feeling in the flat - a 'fact' to which Sherlock just snorted -, the systematic mess in the living room and the unexplainable tidiness in the bathroom. When his friend only shot him a disbelieving look, he produced the med bottle from his pocket.  
"I found one of those in the bedroom, but it was gone when I came back from the shower this morning. However, I remembered that I threw these away yesterday and they were still in the bin, so whether I'm crazy or not doesn't matter. I have no idea what those are, and I should know exactly what meds Mary is taking."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and John knew that he had his attention, so he handed him the med bottle.

"There is no label", he said as Sherlock turned it in his hands, which earned him an eye-rolling from the detective.  
"Thanks, Watson, I can see that. Barely back and already stating the obvious again.  
What you clearly didn't see are the missing glue stains, which means the box came without a label, Mary didn't pull it off after receiving it. That is very worrying, everything these days has to be labeled. She has to have contacts very high up in the production.  
Also, this box has been opened once, no, twice. The pull-open lid shows two remainders of nail polish, probably Mary's, possibly someone else's, I am not familiar with the nail polish collection of your wife.  
The box has been carried around in a normal bad a lot, these dents show that.  
This only strengthens the suggestion of a personal acquaintance in the med production."

He opened the med bottle.

"The pills are small enough to swallow dry even for a person that is not used to it, although that does not have to mean anything.  
The box is only one-third full, so either she didn't need them anymore because the effect already worked, or she didn't have more time. If the latter is the case, we have to ask what stopped her, which would probably be the mentioned shower.  
That suggests that she has to take them at a hourly interval, or possibly daily, but you said you found them on the living room table?  
She wouldn't have them out if she only needed them daily, especially not if she didn't want you to know. We also should ask ourselves if the hospital knows about the pills if she wanted to keep them so secret, and what happens if she does not take them regularly. But we can take care of that later. She seemed to be fine so she either told them or it's nothing too bad.  
They don't smell of anything, and they are not easily pulverised. No powder seems to come off by shaking. There is no dosage or name inscribed and no line for breaking on the surface. We must assume then that the dosage is high enough to work but too low to work when only taking half a pill.  
That's about it, for now. If you don't mind, I'll analyse the pills and tell you what they are as soon as I find out. The rest is up to you, doctor."

John noticed that he'd leaned forward in his armchair, letting himself be completely carried away by Sherlock's deductions. He had totally missed this the last week.  
John grinned.

"Thanks, Sherlock. I'm really grateful for this. And I hope you at least had some… fun with it, given that you're at home in bed otherwise."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
"Well, yes, since the detective inspector - ", he spat out those words, "doesn't need me for once, of course I'm here. There's nothing interesting in the papers anyway. So let's just see what we can do about your child and I do hope you're wrong about all of this."

It still hurt John to hear his friend talking about his 'child', but there was no point in arguing about it. Instead, he told him about Sophie, maybe SHerlock knew something about her or could make some sense of the messages.

"I agree that it is highly unlikely that a nurse told her after you left Mary yesterday, even more so when that means your wife had to know Sophie's phone number by heart.  
So Sophie was either present when it happened, or knew beforehand, or got told right when Mary got sent to hospital. They notified Mycroft, who told you, am I right? Maybe Sophie is the second emergency contact and when they couldn't reach you, they called her."

John wasn't at all surprised that Sherlock knew all of this, but he did wonder how he could talk to calmly about it.  
Normally, he was totally disparaging when just mentioning his brother, and he should have been angry, given the fact that the meeting had been because of him.  
But if Sherlock did disapprove of any of this, he didn't show it. Then again, he had always been an excellent actor.

"I asked her to meet me together with Mary next week. I have no idea how this is supposed to help but maybe I can find something out then. Is there anything else I can do to help with this?", John asked when the silence extended for a bit too long. Sherlock smiled faintly.  
"Don't make Mary suspicious. Let her think that every fight you ever had doesn't matter anymore because you're so happy to have her back and you're very grateful that she's unharmed. Even promise her a new baby if that helps. She has to totally trust you again. Don't mention me. If she has something to hide, it will be easier this way."

John swallowed. This felt like betraying his wife. Although, if he was right about his suspicions, she had done far worse. And if not, he could always make it up to her afterwards.

"Okay", he said, his throat dry. He had a feeling this wasn't going to end well, but he had to do something.


	13. Chapter 12

**Hello there, the angel from my nightmare, the shadow in the background of the morgue.**

* * *

 _Hey there! I'm alive and I bring you a new chapter! I'm sorry that it's been quite a while, but the next chapter is nearly done and should be there later this week (I hope. No promises :s Sorry!)  
I hope this is fun for you. It doesn't really add to the storyline but I thought it nice to have them talk a bit, and I think it throws some more light on the characters how I think them to be. Enjoy! :)_

 _Blink 182 - I Miss You_

* * *

Mary had just successfully dozed off again when her door opened and someone called her name. She groaned, couldn't she just sleep for once? There was nothing else she could do in this boring hospital anyway.

But as she opened her eyes and spotted Molly standing insecurely in the open door, her face lit up and she smiled.  
"Molly, how nice to see you! You have some spare time?"  
The other woman smiled back and nodded.  
"Thought you might want some company before this room bores you to death. Wouldn't want to see you again while working", she joked and Mary had to laugh.

She was glad that Molly talked more openly to her now. At first she had been too shy to be anything but strictly polite, but Mary liked her better this way.

"Don't worry, I will try my best to endure my last day here alive. Someone needs to have an eye on my husband, don't you think?"  
Molly didn't join the joke, instead she asked surprised: "You're getting out of here today? That's so nice! I hope John's taking you out for a nice dinner this evening to celebrate!"

Mary's face was struck with horror.  
"I certainly hope not! I don't think I have the strength to face other people yet. I do hope he prepares something to eat before he picks me up, though, I'm craving for real food!"

Molly looked at the almost full tray next to Mary's bed and laughed sympathetically. She was glad she had at least access to the cafeteria food, and even that was hard to bear sometimes.  
"If he doesn't, call me. I'll come over and cook", she offered,still grinning. Mary had to smile.  
"Thanks, Molly, but I guess it will be fine. But hey, want to meet this weekend? I'll buy you coffee as a thank you for putting up with my groggy self here."

Molly blushed and Mary smiled again. It was nice to talk to someone as sweet as Molly, not always the bossy men she had to deal with normally. John or Sherlock would never just accept a compliment sweetly, blushing. It was relaxing, really.

"Are you sure that's not too early? Maybe you should make up with John first… Your argument sounded nasty."  
Molly's face was full of concern and Mary was overwhelmed by a sudden sadness as she realised there was no reason for it - the fight was over and they should be fine again.  
When she said so, Molly asked with a small voice: "What… What was the fight about? If I can ask…"  
She blushed again and back was Mary's smile. She just couldn't resist it.

Seeing the confused look on her friend's face, she quickly answered: "Just some problems with Sherlock. It should be fine again soon."  
Molly took a sharp breath.  
"Sherlock? Is he okay? What happened?"  
Mary couldn't help but be surprised, then she recalled what she just said and what it had sounded like.

"Relax, Molly. He just found some feelings for John in that mind palace of his. Absolutely nothing tragic."  
She tried to sound reassuring, but as Molly's face went white she realised she had failed.

"F-feelings?"  
Mary bit her tongue.  
"Damn, I'm sorry, Molly… I didn't think…" - "Not, it's okay. I'm over him. I'm sure. It's just unexpected", Molly interrupted her. "But of course it's John. Who else could it be?"  
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, then she asked: "But John stays with you?"  
Mary nodded.  
"That's very nice of him", Molly tried to sound cheerful, but Mary's hard, yet insecure answer took her off guard.  
"He doesn't love Sherlock." - "Of course not", Molly quickly agreed.

They were silent for a while, but there was nothing uncomfortable to it.  
Suddenly, Mary said: "Anyway, I'd like to invite you for coffee this weekend. Will you come?"  
Molly cheered up a bit and with a shy smile she said: "If you really want to, that would be great.  
I should get back, though, I still have loads of work to do. Get home safely and text me about the details, I'm free all weekend!"

With that she stood up, waved a last time and left the room.  
"Bye", Mary called after her and lay back, thinking about the conversation.

She should've known that Molly would be hurt hearing that Sherlock was in love with John, but… She had caught herself pretty quickly again. She had probably had her suspicions about him all along - they all had. She didn't want to know how many bets were won when this came out. Although a lot of them probably were about John as well, and she would do her best to not let that happen.  
Nonetheless, she was looking forward to that coffee with Molly. She had come to like the woman while being in hospital, and she had enjoyed every break that Molly had come to visit her. She had even looked forward to them.  
Maybe they could meet up more often in the future.  
Mary smiled. She would like that.

With a sigh she looked at her watch. She still had three hours until she could leave, and she had no idea what to do all this time.  
Mary turned on the telly and zapped through the programs. Maybe she could watch some cartoons, they would always cheer her up.  
But then she had to think of her child that would never get to watch those cartoons, and she had to bite back her tears. All those lost moments, the years she wouldn't get to have with the child, all the missed smiles and sad days, all the opportunities…

Quickly, she changed to a news channel to distract herself. She didn't want to cry again, she'd had enough of that the last days.  
With forced focus the watched the newsman talk to an elderly woman that apparently had been robbed. It was nothing exciting, except when they showed a piece of paper that had been left in the house.

In a small, neat writing two words had been printed on it.  
They said 'Miss me?'


	14. Chapter 13

**Can we try again and start a new and lovely story?**

* * *

 _Sorry, sorry, sorry! Here goes the next part! Apologies to all Johnlock-shippers that might hate me for this... Stick with me, please :)_

 _Jessy - Dancing in the Dark_

* * *

When John arrived at the hospital, Mary's things were already packed up. Mary herself sat in a chair in the corner of the room, looking a bit pale but better than the day before.  
"Hello, darling", she greeted him and John smiled in return. Apparently she had forgiven him enough to be his normal wife again, without fighting and accusing him. That was good.  
"Are you ready to go home?", John asked and picked up her small bag. Mary nodded and stood up but waited for him to lead the way.

John happily did, he was used to being the one in command and it was good to know that Mary still saw that in him.

Outside, a cab already waited and John was proud of himself to have set that up. Normally one had to wait at least ten minutes for a free cab at this time of the day, and judging from the relieved sigh Mary gave when sitting back she was grateful to get home as fast as possible.

The ride was silent, quiet music from the driver being the only noise in the car, and John felt a bit uncomfortable but he had no idea what to say so he didn't talk at all.  
It seemed to him that this was one of the wiser choices he had made the last days.

When they arrived, John quickly paid the driver and carried the bad to the flat, then rushed down again to help Mary climb the stairs. As he opened the door, Mary gasped.

What she could see from the door was thoroughly cleaned and polished and on the bureau stood a vase with fresh flowers.  
John grinned and led her to the living room, where more flowers were decorated on all pieces of furniture. A small cake sat on the table and a banner with the words 'Welcome home, Mary!' hang on the wall.

"Welcome home, honey!", John said to match those words and grinned widely.  
His wife turned to him and hugged him, hot tears running into his shirt but he just held her tight. He understood what was going on in her head and he felt entirely the same, even without the crying.  
He was a soldier, he had gotten used to swallowing the pain.

So he just rubbed Mary's back and tried to soothe her until she stepped back and gave him a weak smile.  
"Oh John… Thank you so much, this is wonderful."  
She leaned close to kiss him and John beamed.  
"This is not all", he grinned and picked up his wife to carry her to the kitchen. She squeaked and giggled but when she saw the table she went silent.

It was laid with candles and beautiful napkins folded into swans, more flowers and the good porcelain plates they hadn't used since shortly after the wedding.  
In fact, the room resembled its old self when they had eaten romantic dinners in it to celebrate their relationship. They hadn't done this in months, and Mary didn't know she had missed it until now.

Hey eyes began to water again, so she sat down on the chair John pulled out for her, and used an unfolded napkin to wipe her eyes.  
She wouldn't disassemble the swan, not ever.

While she was still looking at her napkin, unsure what to say now and seriously favouring nothing at all in case she might just burst into tears again, John placed a small salad bowl on her plate.

"First course: Green salad with tomatoes and radish, yogurt vinaigrette."  
He had remembered the way she liked her salad most. Of course he had remembered.  
Smiling, she thanked him again, and when he had grabbed a bowl for himself and sat down, she started eating to distract herself from the thought that John was not just a loving husband but would have made an absolutely wonderful father.  
Maybe they could try again?

Mary wasn#t sure if she could stand all that trouble a second time, and she wasn't even sure if John took their relationship more seriously now. He might just wander off again and all her effort would have been for naught.

Her thoughts got interrupted when she had finished her salad and somehow John had managed to empty his bowl in the exact same moment.  
Immediately, he picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink, bringing back two steaming plates from the oven.

"Main dish: Roast pork with potatoes and carrots, slightly sweet spiced and well roasted so it dissolves on your tongue. Your favourite wine to drink because you always want it, no matter if it fits the meal or not."  
He smiled as he put the food down and poured her some wine.  
Mary wanted to say something, not seem ungrateful or egoistic, but every word she could think of got caught in her throat, and John said "Enjoy!" and so she did just that because it was truly delicious.  
She hadn't known he could cook like that, and she decided she'd ask him more often for it. How they had wasted ordinary food by not cooking it this way…

"Are you still up for some dessert or are you stuffed?"; John asked some minutes later and Mary groaned.  
"There's more?", she asked with an obviously fake pained expression and her husband laughed.

"It's the cake in the living room and ice cream, but I put the former in the fridge and the latter can stay in the freezer, so we can just eat it later or tomorrow. I haven't planned the rest of the evening, though, so it's up to you."

Mary leaned back in her chair and thought about what she wanted to do.  
Some telly would be nice, maybe they could watch one of the movies they had bought last month?

When she voiced that thought, John nodded happily and started clearing the table.

"Go to the living room already, I'll be there in a bit", he said and Mary did as she was told. Normally, she'd try to help her husband, especially after he had cooked so lovely, but she just didn't have the strength. She made a mental note to bake something next weekend to repay him for it and fell back on the sofa. Even though she had lain back for three days now, she felt her body relax and allowed her thoughts to drift a bit.

She heard John clean up in the kitchen and it seemed like any other day.  
They had just married and John was an awesome gentleman, always here to help her.  
Or it had been a hard day at work, for both of them, but John always said he didn't mind the extra chores and she was grateful for that.  
Tomorrow would be another normal day, in the ordinary life of John and Mary Watson, and nothing could change that…

Her daydreaming got interrupted by John sitting next to her on the sofa and softly touching her cheek.  
"Ready?", he asked and Mary smiled. She hadn't noticed that he had picked up the cake from the table, and that he had already decided on a movie but that was fine because she didn't care at all what they would watch, she just wanted her husband to hold her and never stop.

So she nodded, sat up so she could lean against John and watch him as he pressed Play.

The music started, but she couldn't look away from her husband, her beautiful, gorgeous army doctor with his deep eyes and strong arms…

While she was adoring him, she didn't notice her eyes closing and the view just being replaced by an exact image in her head. She didn't notice falling asleep because all she dreamt of was John, never leaving her.


	15. Chapter 14

**I can still remember the words and what they meant.**

* * *

 **10:35** : Sherlock, I'm sorry about this. We can't see each other anymore. Mary has come home yesterday and I want to focus on our marriage. This will also give you time for yourself, I think that will be helpful. I really hope we will meet again at a better time. Until then, John.

Sherlock was in the middle of a very complicated research on the mysterious pills John had brought him, when his phone beeped. Absentmindedly, he grabbed it from the table next to him while continuing to read on the fifth useless website he had opened this hour.  
Maybe it was Molly who had finally found someone from the pharmacy to seduce and analyse the pills…

But when he read the message, once, twice, his heart almost stopped. He read it again, and again, just to make sure it really said what he thought, and then again, and again, until his vision blurred.

Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. This had to be a misunderstanding.  
Surely, John meant something entirely different or was tired or had to put on a show for Mary.  
Surely, he would tell him soon that it had been a joke, that he would never just leave Sherlock like that, that their friendship at least remained.  
Sherlock didn't even ask for more.

With shaking hands, he typed an answer.  
 **10:36** : John. Just yesterday you asked me for help and promised to get a long. I have known you as a stubborn man, you would not give up that fast. There has to be some other reason for this. Please tell me so I can go back to the research. I am nearly done. SH

That was a lie, but it was just a small one, and he did have something to present if John asked. And if it would bring the doctor to his senses, it was well worth it.  
A minute passed without an answer, then two. Sherlock tried to think of a reason for John to write this and then ignore him, except for the obvious one, which it obviously couldn't be, but his head felt like it was filled with clouds.  
Dark, painful, stormy clouds.  
When had he started to use metaphors? Something had to be very wrong with him.

He tried to distract himself by writing John another message, but somehow it only made it worse.

 **10:46** : John? You answer very fast when not at work. I know you're not at work. Answer me. SH

The knowledge that John chose to ignore him hurt more than anything else. If he could at least talk to him, explain what happened…  
They had always found a solution together if they had only tried.

Maybe his phone battery had died right after he had sent the message?  
But that would mean he had really wanted to send the message, had probably hurried to send it in time.  
It didn't matter which way he looked at it, it always seemed bad for him.

He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. It was no use.  
He had to think of something else.

Sherlock opened the next site on his list on the computer and tried to concentrate on his reading, but the words on his screen kept changing into the message he had gotten only minutes ago.  
Sherlock rubbed his eyes but that seemed to only make it worse. Maybe he had lost his mind, maybe that's what feelings did to him.

Maybe Mycroft had always been right.  
Well, of course Mycroft had been right, he was Sherlock's older brother, and hadn't that been one of his first lessons ever - big brothers are always right?

Sherlock had never been one to listen to lessons.

Annoyed, he picked up his phone again and sent another "John?", before shutting down his laptop and throwing it on the couch. It landed on a pillow and bounced to the floor, making a very nasty cracking sound but Sherlock didn't care. There was no need for research for John if John didn't even want to talk to him.

An idea crept into his head, and he decided to try one last time before giving up.

 **10:55** : This is not funny. I need you. Don't leave me.

He never begged. John had to realise the fun was over now.  
He couldn't be serious about this, making Sherlock miserable on purpose. John's conscience wouldn't allow it. He would answer and tell Sherlock he didn't mean it, he was sorry, he hadn't wanted to hurt Sherlock.  
John would always come running if Sherlock called, sooner or later.

He hoped in this case it would be sooner because he couldn't wait very long. He had promised John not to do anything stupid, but what good was a promise if the one he had made it to wasn't here anymore to hold him responsible for his actions?  
How hurt could John be if he broke it if he wouldn't even be here to notice it?  
Nothing of it mattered anymore.

On the way to the bathroom, Sherlock wrote a last text.  
 **10:58** : John… Please…

With last strength, he hit the "Send"-button, then his phone slipped from his fingers and fel to the floor.  
Sherlock closed the bathroom door behind him and sank to the ground.

Nothing mattered.

* * *

 _Just a little something. Want to have that stand alone, although I thought about writing it from Sherlock's perspective... If you're interested in that, let me know, I might change it. Will be away next week, I should have something after that, though. I hope. x)_

 _Rise Against - Audience of One_

 _Update 18.05.16: Text message "conversation" from Sherlock's POV. Hope you enjoy this one, it's a bit of a mess, but then again, Sherlock's a bit of a mess. Don't think I have more to say here... Cheers!_


	16. Chapter 15

I'm on the other end begging you, pick up the phone. A shaking whisper is answering, don't call anymore. Your voice is wasted 'cause I'm not listening.

* * *

 _Caution: I updated the chapter before to now describe the "conversation" from Sherlock's POV. I didn't want to make an extra chapter for that, since the conversation was really short itself. I don't know how the notifications work on FF so if you haven't read the whole chapter before please go back and read it. Thanks :)_

 _Rise Against - Amber Changing  
(This one and one more Rise Against, then I promise there are a lot more different songs! Sorry!)_

* * *

It was a sunny day, and John was very happy as he got up. He whistled on his way to the shower, hummed a bit while shampooing his hair and maybe he even skipped a bit before breakfast, although he wouldn't even admit that to his wife.

Mary was a little confused by her husband's behaviour, but she had no reason to be sad herself and so she let herself be affected by his good mood and grinned widely.  
Happily, she watched John prepare breakfast, and when they sat together and started eating, she asked him: "So, what's the plan for today?"

John shrugged and swallowed a bite of egg, then he said: "I don't know. No work today, I might have a look after Sherlock. Haven't heard of him, and I'm still slightly worried. We could go to the park after that, enjoy the sun before the weather changes again?"

Although Mary felt a stab of jealousy at these words, she nodded. They had agreed to this, and she would keep her word.  
And she needed to trust John if she wanted to make this work.

John was sure he could guess all these thoughts just from looking at her face, and he hid a smile. It was good that he knew his wife this well, after all they had been through.

They finished their breakfast in silence, but it was a comfortable one and John had the feeling it was going to be a great day.  
So he started whistling again as he cleared the table and did the dishes; it was the song Sherlock had played at the wedding and it never failed to make John happy.  
Mary watched him all the time, smiling amusedly, and he couldn't resist picking her up and kissing her until she squeaked. He noticed that he loved this sound, and he wanted to hear it again and again and the rest of his life, if possible.  
Had he always been so sentimental?

Mary interrupted his thoughts when she laughed and asked: "Shouldn't you go now so we have the sun as long as possible, later? We could meet at the park in an hour, would that suit you?"

John smiled. She was so understanding and thoughtful.  
"Sounds good. See you later, darling!", he said, kissed her one last time and took his jacket, then he left.

Although he didn't have that much time, he decided to walk to Baker Street. It was such a nice day, and it wasn't that far. He'd be there in no time.

When he entered the house, no sound was to be heard. Mrs. Hudson had to be out for tea, or getting groceries or whatever that woman was up to lately. One could never know with her.

But the flat upstairs was dark and cold, all the curtains were drawn and it smelled a bit dusty. It couldn't be dusty, John had only been here yesterday and it had been fine then, but where was the scent coming from?  
Maybe John's brain was just adding it because it seemed to fit, to belong in the empty room. Because that was exactly what it was: empty and deserted. It scared the hell out of him, but he shook the feeling off.  
There was no logical reason to feel fear in this familiar environment.

To get rid of these thoughts, he shouted: "Sherlock, are you home?"  
Sherlock didn't answer and for a second John really wondered if he had gone out.  
Had he been stupid not to consider this option?  
From what he had seen of Sherlock the last days, he couldn't imagine the detective going out for anything, but maybe he had taken his research seriously?

John sighed. Of course he had. It was the closest to a case he had had in weeks, and it was for John, so Sherlock probably gave it highest priority.  
John wanted to pull out his phone and text the detective - only when he reached into his pockets, they were empty.  
He had left his phone at home.

John groaned. Now he could either wait until it was time to meet Mary and then borrow her phone, or he could walk back to the flat.  
Both would be an awful lot of wasted time.

Suddenly, he knew what to do.  
If he really did research, Sherlock would either be at the morgue with Molly or at the Yard with Greg, or at any place one of those two had sent him.  
Since the hospital was closer to Baker Street, he decided to get a quick cab there and phone Greg if necessary.  
A glance at his watch told him he needed to hurry a little, but it would work out.  
 _If_ he could get a cab immediately. That had always been Sherlock's specialty…

He stopped worrying and went outside, careful not to change anything on the way out.  
He wasn't exactly sure, why, but it seemed wrong to disturb the surroundings - like something scary would jump on him and eat him.

John shivered. When had he become such a coward? He wasn't supposed to be afraid.  
He was a soldier and he had fought many battles, all scarier than an empty flat he used to live in.

So he straightened his back and started walking down the road, hoping a cab would pull up next to him, or maybe a black car. He would even handle Mycroft right now, but of course the bastard didn't show up when it would be convenient.

John kept on walking, but even after two street corners no car showed up and he grew impatient.  
This would never work out in time, so maybe it was better to go and meet Mary. Then he could borrow her phone and tell Sherlock he wanted to meet him. This way he wouldn't miss him next time.  
Yes, that sounded like a good plan.

Content with himself, John started whistling again and set off for the park.

He reached it just in time, seeing Mary get off a cab at the entrance. He waved at her and she smiled.  
"Hello, honey, nice to see you. How's Sherlock?"

Right to the topic, that's how John liked his wife.  
"Not home. Can I borrow your phone to let him know I stopped by? I must've left mine at home, seems to happen more often to me recently."  
Mary nodded, then she pulled out her own phone. She didn't seem surprised, had she known about this?  
But if she had seen his mobile at home, why hadn't she brought it?

He stopped wondering, instead he typed a quick message to Sherlock, then handed his wife her phone back.  
If she checked it more recently the upcoming hour, he didn't make much of it. After all, today seemed to be his paranoid day.

He tried to get rid of all these dark thoughts, for Mary's sake at least. It was her first real day at home, and after all she had gone through, she deserved a nice day out in the sun.  
He ignored the whisper in the back of his head saying evidence pointed towards the fact that it had been her own fault.  
No matter what came of it, today would be a good day.

He smiled at Mary and she smiled back, a little surprised.  
"What are you thinking right now?", she asked and took his hand. John just shrugged.  
"I like the sun, that's all."


	17. Chapter 16

**It has to be so lonely to be the only one who's holy.**

* * *

 _Paramore - Playing God_

* * *

When they alerted him that his brother had gone missing, Mycroft Holmes could only sigh. He was used to Sherlock's games, and he was by no means looking forward to all that trouble again. He had better things to do, more important and far more interesting as well.

But of course, he couldn't just ignore this.  
With Sherlock, one could never know if it was serious or not. And he'd rather not tell his parents he had messed up because he took warning signs too lightly.

So Mycroft accessed all his cameras and called all his people, only to find out nobody had seen him.  
The cameras had been destroyed, which meant his brother had still had some sense. He had thought about this logically, that was a good sign.  
Mycroft was fairly sure this was nothing serious. He should just send somebody over and fix this and get on with his work.

He was just about to call Anthea when one of the cameras flickered and went from black to showing the bathroom. Apparently, Sherlock had only covered this one?  
That wasn't usual, but Mycroft didn't have time to think about it.  
He didn't need to waste more time, seeing what he saw on the bathroom floor.

He cursed, then got his umbrella and left the room. He hated it when he had to actually go out, but of course his stupid brother would find a way to force him to.  
If only he wasn't too late this time.

In mere minutes he had someone have his car ready and they were moving.  
Sometimes, Mycroft regretted having his office in the outskirts of the city, and now was one of those times. Maybe he should actually think about buying a place in a middle of London.  
He played with the thought for some minutes, invented places he could move in and how he'd decorate them - a game he often played to calm himself down. He didn't look it, but he loved furniture and decorations.

And then a figure of John Watson in the corner… - Mycroft started. Why would he think about John Watson in his living room?  
He realised that his brain had tricked him. He had seen John on the street and mixed up his face with his thoughts, that never ended good.

Then he came to his senses.  
"Stop the car immediately!", he cried, one second later he jumped out of the car.

"Hello Mary", he greeted the wife, then opened the back door of the car.  
"John, in. Now." There was no asking, but John had to know it was serious and he obeyed after apologising to his wife.  
"I'm sending a car, Mrs. Watson. Good day."

And with that, both men shut the doors and the driver started moving again.  
"What have I done this time?", John asked with a slightly annoyed tone and Mycroft felt hot anger flaring up in him.  
The man had hurt his brother like no other person could, and he hadn't even realised it.  
"You should know that better than I do, you're the one that made this happen. And then you have the confidence to just wake a walk with your wife, smiling and laughing as if everything was normal. Don't you have any conscience?", Mycroft snapped and the doctor winced.  
"Look, I really have no idea what you're talking about. The last time I talked to Sherlock we were totally fine, we had found a way to make it okay again, and I know you wanted me to stay away but I couldn't, and it's better this way, believe me. It will not be good immediately, but we will get there, so just give me a chance to -"

"Liar!", Mycroft shouted before he could contain himself.  
John winced again and Mycroft realised that this wasn't going to get them anywhere.  
"I would have been inclined to believe you, had I not seen the cameras. I don't know what happened but it had to be you - no one else could drive him to those actions. And if the last time was just the first warning, this time I'm more than serious - stay away from my brother. Have I made myself clear?"

"The cameras? Which cameras?", John asked instead of answering and Mycroft sighed. The man had a talent for evading the real questions. But he couldn't just tell him, could he?  
Well, of course he could but it would be impolite…  
Had he ever cared about that before?  
But maybe John really had no clue, and this was all a big mistake…  
Only one way to find out.

"The cameras in Baker Street. Sherlock disabled them all." - "Sounds like something he would do", John shrugged, just slightly sarcastic, but Mycroft only tried to glare him to death. It would be useful if the doctor didn't interrupt him.  
"Yes, but he forgot the bathroom one. Or maybe he did it on purpose. I don't care. But even you should know that empty sachets on the bathroom floor and a disappeared Sherlock are not a good sign."  
"You think I did something that made him take drugs again", John stated, his voice factual but with a tiny hint of indignation. That he had to make everything about himself…  
Did he not see the problem in this, or did he not believe him?  
"I don't think, I know. For a long time now, you have been the only one that could cause Sherlock to take drugs again. That has not changed and will not change anytime soon. So I suggest you tell me what happened and then get out of the car because we're almost there."  
That wasn't exactly true, but Mycroft didn't want to keep this conversation going any longer. He was tired of excuses, and it didn't even _change_ anything. In the end, he had to do the work, like always.  
Mycroft really had liked it better when Sherlock had stayed away from people, hadn't tried to make _friends_ and have _emotions._

"I'm telling you, I didn't do anything! Whatever set this off, it wasn't me! And I will help fix this, because I'm Sherlock's friend. Just don't throw me out, give me a chance."  
John was pleading now but it didn't really reach Mycroft. He signalled his driver to stop, then actually got out to open the door for the other man.  
"I'm done discussing this. Get out, John, I'll figure this out on my own."  
The doctor just glared at him, then he said: "You know, you think so highly of yourself, but you're _not_ the only one that can help your brother, and I will convince you of that, if you let me help or not."

And then, surprisingly, he got out of the car.


	18. Chapter 17

**Always knew that I would find you here, in a puddle of the bravest tears. I've seen enough to know it's lonely where you are. Above the crowd, feet dangling from a rooftop.**

* * *

 _Rise Against - Tragedy + Time_

 _Sorry that it was so long. I immediately started writing the next chapter, so hopefully I'll get by faster.  
I promise that I will not abandon this story, but I apologise for the waiting times. I'm a lazy person, and I'm also forgetful, and those two don't add up to good traits. Sorry!  
I hope you still enjoy the chapter, and tell me what you think of it. :)_

* * *

John watched the car leave, then started off into a small street that would lead him directly to Sherlock. At least he hoped so.  
He thought he knew where his friend was, thought he had deduced it from the small hints Mycroft had let slip through, but there was always the chance that he was wrong.  
After all, he was no Sherlock Holmes.

When he approached the building, everything seemed normal. It was a busy day and people were hurrying in and out of the front doors, so it was no problem for John to blend in with the crowd and avoid being seen by people that might have known him.

He tried to steady his pace so as not to attract attention but he found himself nearly running by the time he took the second stairs.  
Soon enough he was standing in front of the door, and now his heart was beating so fast he was sure he'd collapse soon. A little part of him wished he had walked more slowly; he was suddenly so scared of opening the door although he couldn't say what would be worse. Stepping through it and finding Sherlock, seeing him overdosing or close to it, knowing that _something_ he had done had set this off; or finding nothing and having to start looking again, never certain if he would be in time.

Trying to brace himself, John went through his options if he found Sherlock. He would try to talk to him, see what had done this….  
 _And then keep him from jumping_ , a small voice in the back of his head said and John flinched. Wasn't there anything he could do to prevent this?

He had the feeling there had to be an actual light bulb above his head when he pulled out his phone and started texting Greg.  
He typed a quick "Sherlock on roof, come fast" without sending it, then pushed open the topmost door of St Bart's.

John actually sighed with relief when he saw Sherlock sitting against a crate in the middle of the roof. It meant he didn't have to go looking for him, scared it might be too late, and it meant he was in no imminent danger of falling.  
So John forced himself to press **Send** , put the phone away and walk slowly towards the crate.

"Sherlock?" he murmured, not sure if he kept his voice down in fear of scaring his friend of himself.  
When there was no reaction, he sat down next to him, but found that he couldn't look at him.

His gaze was drawn to the edge of the roof, and even though he had seen it from another perspective last time, he could only too easily imagine Sherlock standing there, spreading his arms, falling.  
In his head, their last conversation replayed, Sherlock's last, cruel voice; his own pleading words; his desperate cries and screams.  
He saw the body on the pavement, the blood; felt the drag of the paramedics; the people shoving him away just to get a good _look_ , when this was _his friend_ , a person he loved, someone he didn't want to live without but would have to, now.

His insides burned and suddenly, John felt hollow. He couldn't do this. He had lived his whole life without Sherlock, and he didn't want to go back there, he couldn't, they couldn't ask this of him -

Something next to him moved and suddenly John was back, _on_ the rooftop, not below, and Sherlock was with him, no on his way down, and he couldn't hold back now.  
John just turned around and hugged his friend, and it took all his strength not to cry, even though he had always been able to control his emotions pretty well.  
Everything to do with Sherlock was an exception.

"Don't make me lose you again," he whispered against his friend's shoulder, but his voice was lost in the precious coat. Of course he wouldn't leave without it, no matter how urgent the case or how distracted the Consulting Detective, he would always wrap his coat around his shoulders, turn up the collar, smirk at John and then stride to the nearest cab that just magically appeared around the corner.  
John was slightly jealous; this piece of clothing for sure had never been forgotten at a crime scene or had to worry because it wasn't informed.

John snorted. Despite the absurdity of this situation, a small laugh escaped his lips: he was _jealous_ of a _coat_. He had to be pretty out of his mind right now, this was ridiculous.

At this sound, Sherlock stirred and John let go of him, eyeing him warily for the first time.  
Sherlock looked old and more like a ghost than a person. His skin was even paler than usual, his eyes were sunken in and almost glowed red, but his gaze was unfocused, looking here and there and nowhere in particular.

"Sherlock?" John whispered, not knowing which reaction he expected.  
"Why do you always come back?" Sherlock asked, his voice dry and the words breaking up. He sounded pained, resigned, desperate, and John nearly hugged him again for this.  
"Because I told you I'd never leave you," John answered as calmly as possible.  
"Yes, you keep saying that. I have yet to see that you mean it, because you've always broken your promises so far. And yet I keep allowing you in. Why do I do that? Why am I so _stupid_?"  
The last word was nothing more than a hiss, and for a moment John thought Sherlock was angry, because he totally sounded like it, but as he chanced a look at his face, there was nothing more than pain and disappointment.

As softly as possible, John said: "I'm not leaving you, you're shutting me out. Why are you up here? I thought that after yesterday we were fine for now, what changed?"  
Sherlock's head jerked up and he looked like he wanted to snap something, but at the same moment the door behind them opened and in the next second, Greg was on Sherlock's other side. He nodded briefly to John, then started to mumble words to the detective. John didn't understand what he was saying and instead of trying to listen more closely, he tuned everything out.

He didn't exactly know what would happen now, but he didn't really want to be a part of it.  
He just wanted to sit here and watch the clouds pass by, wanted to listen to the cars on the streets and to the general rustle of the hospital, knowing it couldn't reach him - but then he felt movement, Greg and some paramedics John didn't know where dragging Sherlock along, keeping him well away from the edge, and just like that they were gone and John was alone.  
He watched the door fall shut and for a moment he just sat there, thinking about what to do now before a voice supplied _Follow them. Obviously. Stay with Sherlock. Never leave._

His feet went to do just that before he had even finished thinking it, and he never once doubted his plan.  
And then they told him he couldn't see him.  
"He's on intensive care, I'm really surprised he's still alive, I'm sorry, you can't see him now, please come back another time," a friendly but stern doctor told him and John felt like throwing the man to the wall and crushing him. Bus hit common sense told him it wasn't their fault, and so he just decided to go home.

He was so tired suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be at home with a cup of tea and some crap telly.

And then he realised he had been thinking about Baker Street when he thought _home_ , and that was when he lost himself.


	19. Chapter 18

**Am I too lost to be saved? Am I too lost?**

* * *

 _This will be three pretty short chapters in close time (two immediately, the other one probably on Sunday, I don't have time to type it right now) after that it's a longer chapter again. I'm sorry that these are so short but I wanted to say those things and somehow they had to be this short. Maybe I just failed. Anyway, enjoy!_

 _Evanescence - Tourniquet_

* * *

The next thing John knew what that he was sitting on the couch in Mary's flat, her arms around his shoulders, and he was _crying_. He had no idea how he had come here, or what had happened, he only knew that he wanted to go back to the sweet oblivion he had been in. He didn't want to see things, hear things, _feel_ things.

"What happened?" Mary asked softly, caressing his back with her hand. So they hadn't talked already. That was… good, John thought, he might have told her anything and wouldn't even remember it.  
On the other hand, he wasn't sure what he sould tell her, or what he wanted to, and that was possibly even worse.

"Mycroft made me responsible for Sherlock taking drugs, but I don't know what I did. It has to be something to do with me, though, because…"  
John hesitated. The rooftop still brought back unwanted memories, even just talking about it, and somehow it felt… too intimate to tell Mary about it. Which was stupid, because she as his wife and he loved her.

So he got over his repulse and told her all about it.  
Well, the facts. He was already crying, he didn't want her to know all about his emotions. This was enough.

"So that's why Mycroft was so angry… I really hope Sherlock is going to be okay. I don't understand it, though. What did you do?" Mary asked in confusion and John let out a frustrated growl. If only he _knew_.

He told Mary as much, and she threw him a puzzled look. Didn't she believe him? She was supposed to be on his side! But it seemed she wasn't better than Mycroft...

John was about to get up and retreat to the bedroom to sulk alone in his anger, when Mary laid a hand on his knee and said: "You know what? I'll make you some tea, bring you some cake, and then we'll watch crap telly. That always distracts you a bit."  
And just like that, John was dragged back to the surface of the deep ocean he had been drowning in. Mary just suggested the very thing he had wished for since leaving Sherlock, and even if this wasn't Baker Street it surprised him that she knew exactly what he needed.. - John shook his head.  
The fact that it surprised him was sad in itself. She was his wife after all. Of course she knew what he needed now. She knew it because she was awesome and John should never let her go, even though he didn't give her enough credit for it.

And if something in his chest hurt while thinking this, something that felt like an awful lot of guilt, John pushed it aside as shock from all that had happened. No one could watch his best friend overdose and be brought into hospital unconscious, barely alive, and feel perfectly normal at home.

Mary returned with tea and cake, she even turned on the telly and brought a blanket for them to share. For a while, they sat in silence and zapped through the programs, jumping from a quiz show over a court show to a detective show and there they stopped. It felt familiar, and John instantly felt better. He smiled and grabbed Mary's hand and even kissed her on the cheek.  
He had the feeling nothing could go wrong anymore, and he was sure Sherlock would be okay.

Grinning, he started to pay more attention to the show again, calling out all the irregularities he found. They had a rule, though - the most obvious one would be for Sherlock to name, and then he would insult all the characters on the show. John had already spotted a likely candidate, and it could only be seconds until Sherlock's voice would yell out that they were all stupid.

John leaned forward in anticipation - it couldn't be long now - he always loved this part - but Sherlock remained silent.

John looked to his side - and actually flinched when he saw Mary sitting there. Of course, Sherlock was in hospital, he was here with his wife and she didn't know their game, would never insult a character on a TV show, and anyway, it wouldn't be the same.

Suddenly, John's mood was awful again, and he actually needed effort to not snap at Mary when he said: "I'm going to get some rest. Thank you for the tea."  
Not waiting for her answer, he got up and went to the bedroom, where he dropped face-down on the mattress and felt like not moving again until Sherlock was okay again. Because right now, that was the only thing that mattered.


	20. Chapter 19

**If tomorrow never comes, will he know how much I loved him? Did I try in every way to show him every day that he's my only one?**

* * *

 _Ronan Keating - If Tomorrow Never Comes_

* * *

At first, John didn't want to get up when his phone rang, but when it didn't stop for fifteen minutes, he groaned and leaned over to the bedside table to collect the damn thing. A glance on his alarm clock showed that it was ten in the morning, had he really spent all night sulking over Sherlock and Mary?

"John Watson?" he asked and immediately Sarah started talking in a speed that was too fast for John's sleepy brain.  
"Sarah, stop, slow down please. What's up?"  
A suspicion crept into his head, dreadful and looming, and it took over all his thoughts before Sarah could even start talking again.

"Is he okay? Please tell me you could fix him, tell me he's okay!" he almost shouted into the phone, and this time Sarah managed to answer before he could lose himself.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, John - you can see him now. He might be asleep when you come because he's barely conscious for longer than half an hour mostly - but he will be okay, I promise. I don't know how they did it, he looked so bad, but he will live. So come around whenever you want and they will let you to him."

John let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and tanked Sarah before ending the call. He threw on some new clothes as quickly as possible, then grabbed his keys and made for the door.

On his way out, he passed the couch - and Mary on it. John flinched, he hadn't even noticed that she wasn't with him, but she had probably figured he needed some time by himself.  
She had been right.

He decided to send her a text message from the hospital, a note would only take time he didn't want to spend, and with those thoughts he was off. He didn't bother calling a cab, instead he practically ran to the hospital, and even though a lot of people shot him weird looks he didn't slow down.

At last, he arrived, and they actually told him where Sherlock was, he almost couldn't believe it. It was still intensive care, but a ward that was open for visitors, which was a good sign.

Sherlock _was_ asleep as John entered the room, so he sat down on a chair next to the bed and waited. He either wanted Sherlock to wake up or a doctor to come in and tell him what they had found in his friend's blood. Even though it was a scary thought, knowing what had almost killed the detective, John just had to know. He needed to know what to look for when he was at Baker Street next time, so he could find it and get rid of it.  
He probably should move back in there to keep an eye on Sherlock, and to suppress his fear of losing him. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened after this.

Sherlock moved and John stood up immediately.  
"Sherlock? Are you awake? How are you feeling? Can I bring you anything?"  
His voice was full of fear, even though he thought to himself how ridiculous that was. He should be relieved, happy, grateful. But a small part of him knew that Sherlock thought this was his fault, and it probably was, and he didn't know if they could fix it, and it would just be his luck that he destroyed it now entirely and -

"John?" Sherlock's rasping voice asked and immediately, John's thoughts stilled and centered around his friend.  
"I'm here, Sherlock, I'm here, I'm not leaving," he promised and, out of instinct, took Sherlock's hand in his own. He was a bit surprised by his own action but his friend's fingers clung to his and it made John's focus center around them.

These long, slender fingers, cold and pale, normally so agile, now so clumsy as they refused to let go of John's.

"John… You're here…"  
His voice was so low, so deep, barely audible but still touched John's soul and he wanted to embrace Sherlock, make him feel better, never let him go.

"John… Why did you shut me out? Why… go back… Mary… her fault… "  
His mumbling went more and more quiet with every word, but he had John's full attention now. Was this just some subconscious talk because Sherlock hat tried to find out more about Mary's pills right before he had taken the drugs or did he have something important to say?

"Can you repeat that?" he asked a little shyly, and then leaned as close as he dared without causing distress. Sure enough, this time, he understood every single word.

"Why… Why would you go back to Mary? She's responsible… It's her fault you lost it - she killed your child!"


	21. Chapter 20

**Old loves, they die hard. Old lies, they die harder.**

* * *

 _Third of the short chapters. Maybe I get the next longer one up before I go on vacation on Saturday. No promises, though, I have a shitload of work to do before that D:_

 _Nightwish - Wish I Had An Angel_

* * *

"Knock knock," Mycroft said before stepping in through the open door to Mary's flat. He had thought about summoning her as he did with most of his other _clients_ , but he had been pretty sure that it wouldn't work with her, so he had decided to just use the spare key and visit her.  
He had been to Baker Street just before so it really hadn't been that much of extra work, and this couldn't really wait, anyway.

"Mycroft," Mary greeted him, stepping out of the kitchen and sounding unsurprised.  
Mycroft sighed. He was still waiting for the day that he could intimidate this woman.  
"What can I do for you? Tea?" she suggested. She didn't even ask how he had gained access to the flat and it made him wonder if she herself didn't use his methods.  
Mary Morstan - Mary _Watson_ was one of few people that made him very uneasy.

"That would be wonderful, thank you," he answered calmly and sat on the couch. A moment later she had seated herself in the armchair to his left and they both had steaming hot cups of tea in front of them.  
"So?" Mary asked again and Mycroft considered. He had known what he wanted to say, but was it really the best way to do this? He wasn't so sure anymore.

"We both know why we're here. You hurt my brother, and John took the blame for it. Stupid as I was, I was not able to see it at first, but now I know, and it has to stop."  
Normally, that was enough, but Mary only smiled, took a sip of her tea and said: "I am sure I don't know what you mean."

Did she really want to go there? She had to know it was useless, this was not the first encounter they had had. But if she wanted to play the game this way, Mycroft wouldn't give in. He always had the stronger arguments.

"I know of your correspondence with Sophie James, I know who she really is and I know what you two planned and why. I know your ultimate goal and how far you would go to achieve it. So please, don't bother lying, because I will know everything about it, and it will be enough to bring you down."

Mary's mouth twitched, but it seemed more of amusement than of fear.  
"'Bring me down', what am I? The criminal mastermind, the endboss?"

"If you want it that way, yes, maybe. You are certainly more than just a fly on the wall, and you interfered too much already. I cannot allow you to go on. So please stop your actions or I will stop them."

Mary leaned towards him, eyes twinkling.  
"What could you possibly do?"

"Tell John."  
As far as he knew, she would do anything to keep her husband by her side.

"Tell John!" she laughed. "As if he might believe you! And even if he did, I could only too easily show him that you lied to him. Because that's all you do. _Lie._ And I will not have you destroy my marriage. I don't know what you think is going on between Sophie and me, but it certainly doesn't hurt anyone, so please, continue your personal vendetta somewhere else. And please, drink up before you go, I didn't make this tea for nothing."

She made to stand up, but then sat back down, turned to Mycroft and said: "I am so very sorry about what happened to Sherlock. I hope he recovers soon."

Mycroft only picked up his cup and sipped at the tea, he wasn't sure what to do now. He ran several possibilities through his head, but none seemed to really fit. His instincts said call in the guards and take Mary with him, hold her captive until she talked, but the times that such methods were convenient were long gone.

So he just emptied his cup and stood up. He walked to the door and without turning around he said: "Your arrogance is magnificent, but it will be your end. You may not believe that I am capable of unleashing hell for you, but that is fine. I can prove it to you, and I will have fun doing it. The people around you are not as stupid and naive as you think. They adapt very nicely to new situations, and they actually think about what they're told. And one day, very soon, they will find out that you're not the person you pretend to be, and that there's more to you than a burned USB stick. And yes, you thought you could start over, but to do that you would have had to leave your old schemes behind. Think about that maybe.

"But now I must be going. Have a nice day, I am sure we'll see each other again very soon."  
Mycroft left the flat and shut the door behind him. This hadn't gone as planned, but it was no problem. He still had his joker.

And he smiled, turning the small object in his pocket. It would come in handy very soon.


	22. Chapter 21

**A broken promise is as good as a lie.**

* * *

 _This is a slighty longer (I think) chapter :) I will be gone for two weeks, visiting my family, but I promise to bring back new chapters when I come back :) Enjoy your summer c:_

 _Slipknot - All Hope Is Gone_

* * *

John didn't really feel comfortable after Sherlock's announcement, and he was rather grumpy when he left the hospital. The thought of going back to Mary made him feel sick and so he texted her, saying he would be at Baker Street and clean up a bit. After all, he was probably the only one that could see through Sherlock's chaos, and the place was a mess.

No one would know that he ended up sitting in his armchair and looking through old case notes just to pass the time.  
And maybe he didn't look at the time on purpose so he had an excuse to stay over night, but who would blame him?

The first day he stayed he mostly really cleaned up. He felt relaxed and awake as if the night in his old bed had helped calm down, and he wasn't even annoyed when he called the hospital and they told him that Sherlock was still asleep and it would be better if he didn't visit.

He organised all the files in the cupboard instead, cleaned the kitchen and made tea for Mrs Hudson. In a so-called break he watched all the detective shows he had gotten for Sherlock's birthday some years ago on DVD, and as he accidentally fell asleep on the couch he dreamt of chasing criminals and solving puzzles.

After some more organising (this time it was the bookshelf) Sarah called him. They had told her that Sherlock was awake and seemed intent to stay this way, and he wanted to talk to John.  
So the doctor abandoned his current shelf board and practically ran to the hospital.

Seated in Sherlock's room, he finally found some time to breathe.  
"Sherlock! You're awake! How are you? Why did you do this?"  
The detective blinked and tried to sit up, which failed horribly, so he just fell back again. He looked so weak, John felt even worse for him, but after all he had put himself in this position.

Sherlock coughed and said with some effort: "You should know why I did it. The better question is, why are you here?"

John almost laughed.  
"Because I'm your friend, Sherlock. Friends visit each other in hospital."

"It didn't sound like that in your message," Sherlock stated and John frowned.  
"Message? Which message?"  
The last message he could think about was days back before Sherlock had told him… Told him about _that_. So there couldn't be anything that would've set this off. What on earth was he talking about?

"Don't try to play it down, John. If you regret it, just tell me. It doesn't make it any better, but neither does denying it."

"Denying what? I really don't know what you're talking about!"  
"Was everyone trying to blame him these days?

"John, would you pass me my phone? It's in the drawer there."  
The doctor was a bit surprised but did as he asked.  
Sherlock tapped a bit on the screen, then showed it to John. What he read left him breathless, and not in a good way. And he was supposed to have sent it!  
This was outrageous!

He pulled out his own phone but there was nothing like that on it. He only found his calls with the hospital, his messages to Sophie and Greg and finally to Mery.  
"Sherlock, I don't know how this happened but it wasn't me. I was so happy we were fine, I miss you so much, I would never do anything like this, please believe me… I don't want to lose you again…" John muttered and was soon lost for words. All he wanted was to repeat himself over and over again until Sherlock believed him.

He slumped down in his chair, he didn't understand why they couldn't just work this out. Why something had to come between them, constantly. This just wasn't fair.

"John… Are you crying?" Sherlock asked and John realised that yes, indeed, his cheeks were wet with tears.  
"Sorry," he mumbled and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand. Sherlock only shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry… Clearly, this is not your fault. I should have thought about it before. But… you have that effect on me. I tend to be impulsive. I have never been _impulsive_! My head just refuses to think, and who am I without thinking?!"  
Sherlock sounded desperate and vulnerable and John reminded himself that this was a first for Sherlock. He had never before felt that way and somehow it made John's inside flutter, thinking that he'd been the one to invoke those feelings in Sherlock.

"You're still you! This doesn't have to be a bad thing… We can work on it, together, and then you will see that you're still the same person. Please, don't worry so much about it," John said softly and smiled. Despite everything, his own words made him happy and he felt as optimistic as never before.  
Sherlock would get better and they would fix this.

But Sherlock stayed silent. Had he said something wrong?  
"Sherlock…" John started, slightly insecure.

"There's something you have to know first," Sherlock interrupted him and John froze, his mind racing.  
Didn't Sherlock want this? Was there anything wrong? Or had Mycroft said anything? Or -

"I looked into the pills you gave me."  
Mary. This was about Mary.  
John almost sighed in relief, then he remembered that it wasn't something to be relieved about. Mary was his wife and he remembered all too well the words Sherlock had muttered only two days ago.

"What are they?" John could only whisper, suddenly scared of the answer even though he could take a guess.  
"You might know them as Misoprostol, or maybe Cytotec." The abortion pill.

John's whole body went cold. He couldn't be serious, Mary would likely be dead, then, even she wouldn't be so stupid… Would she?

But why would she do this? She hadn't been insecure about the baby before, and it wasn't like her to not talk to him about it. And surely she wouldn't kill their baby?  
 _Why not?_ a small voice in his head asked. _She almost killed your best friend, almost made you lose him a second time. Why would she make a difference for the child?_

"John, breathe, please," Sherlock's calm voice pulled him back and he tried very hard not to break down.  
"I didn't know if I should tell you but I thought you should know and you had asked me to look into it, and you know I value the truth more than anything. I am very sorry you had to find out like this," Sherlock continued but John shook his head.  
"No, you were right. I had to know. It's just… It still hurts, you know? How could she to this to me? _Killing_ our child, and she also risked her own life for it. What did she _think_?"  
John was pretty sure Sherlock had some opinion about this, but he stayed silent, which was almost worse than hearing some sort of snide comment.

"Anyway, I need to talk to her immediately. Thank you for doing all that for me, Sherlock. I will come back later, I promise, I just… This needs to be done now."  
John stood up but Sherlock grabbed his arm.  
"John, don't."

"Why not? I can't just act as if nothing had happened!"

"I know. Just.. We don't know why she did it. If you confront her now, she might never tell us. Can we.. Can _you_ investigate a little further?"

Sherlock had wanted him all for himself, and now he wanted him to stay with Mary for longer? This didn't even make any sense and even thinking about it felt so very wrong, but a part of John suggested that his friend was right. He _did_ want to know why this had happened. He didn't want to wonder every day what had triggered this, if maybe he was responsible for this…

 _No_ , he thought firmly. This was Mary's fault, and he would find out what had made her do it.  
"Alright," John said hesitantly. "I'll do it. But you have to help me. I can't do this alone, I can't always pretend, I need to be myself sometimes…"

"I'm here for you," Sherlock said reassuringly and John calmed down immediately. Taking a deep breath, he sat down again, then asked: "So, how are we going to do this?"


	23. Chapter 22

**And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we loved.**

* * *

 _I'm so sorry guys. I had a lot of stuff going on, broke up with my boyfriend of three and a half years, accepted a second job, decided to completely change my educational path...  
_ _I'm really sorry that I left you here. I'm not abandoning the story, and I do have plans to write more, I'm trying to be organised about it!  
_ _So here we go then :x  
_ _Thanks for everyone who's still sticking around :)_

 _Bastille - Pompeii_

* * *

"Honey, I'm going out!" Mary called, but John barely looked up from the book he was reading.

"Take care," he told her, and some moments later he heard the front door close. Immediately, he was on his feet, grabbed his coat and his phone and followed his wife as quietly as possible.

She was already at the street, but instead of waving a cab, she turned left and followed the paveway. John couldn't think of anything in that direction, but maybe she had found a new store to buy her groceries at?

But the suspicion wouldn't leave his thoughts, and so he went after her, ashamed but curious.  
John almost expected her to take a cab as soon as she reached the next corner - it was always easier to catch one there than right in front of the flat - but Mary kept on walking, away from the crowded streets and through small alleys. At least that made it easy to follow her without being seen.

Finally she stopped at a small café that was very well hidden between two office buildings, but it had blue chairs and pretty flowers on the tables. John could definitely see why his wife liked it.  
Mary looked around for a bit, then settled down at one of those tables outside in the sun, clearly still waiting for someone.

John let his gaze wander a little, he had no clue who she could be meeting out here, and he also didn't know what to do with himself now. He didn't want to leave before he had seen the other person, but he could barely just sit at the table next to Mary and listen.  
Suddenly, he spotted a bench next to a flower pot that would keep him hidden from people at the café and still allow him to eavesdrop on his wife.  
The thought made him cringe, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Accepting his fate, he sat down and waited.

It didn't take too long and he heard an unfamiliar voice greet his wife, Mary then responded: "Sophie! So great you could make it!"  
John felt curious and disappointed simultaneously. Of course he should have thought about the possibility of Mary meeting a friend, especially after the last days; then again, this was his chance to find out more about this mysterious woman.  
Maybe he wouldn't be able to sleep this night, but at least it would be because of a bad conscience and not out of curiosity and negative thoughts.

"How's it going?" he heard Sophie ask and for a while it stayed quiet. John considered sneaking around the flower pot to risk a look, but just then he heard his wife speak again.  
"I don't know. We're home a lot, he seems happy with me, but also very distracted. Maybe it's just Sherlock's hospitalisation, but I have the feeling there's more to it."  
"Sherlock… I've heard about it. It's a shame, it had almost worked out. But of course no one could've known how it would have ended."

Silence again, then a waitress asked them what they wanted to order. They didn't talk while waiting for their drinks to come, and John was slightly impatient. It had sounded like they were concerned about Sherlock, but also somehow… disappointed?  
But they wouldn't have anything to do with the weird message that had caused Sherlock to overdose, would they?

He knew Mary had been a completely different person once but she had promised to change.  
 _And then she went and killed your child_ , he reminded himself. He wasn't here to defend Mary, not even in his head; he was here to find out the truth, and with high possibility it would be an ugly truth.

Suddenly Mary spoke again.  
"It was a good plan, though, thanks for the help, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."  
"No problem, I'm always happy to do my part. I'm still glad you're okay, I hadn't known that you're such a risktaker."  
"Well, at this point, it didn't matter. I couldn't lose him, you know? And that way, I'm sure he'd remembered me as the wife he loved."  
"It's still silly. Have you ever thought about me? Maybe you don't have other friends, but there's always me."  
"I'm honoured," Mary said drily and John almost expected Sophie to be annoyed, instead she laughed. What kind of friendship was that, helping friends almost kill themselves?

While it was true that John would do almost anything for Sherlock, he'd do even more to keep his friend from harm.  
He remembered the mix of feelings when he had found Sherlock on the roof, the memories from the fall, the day of the fall itself…  
He almost couldn't live like this, there was no way he could help him do it.

John shuddered. This wasn't the wife he loved. This was a monster.  
"All right, I have to get back, work calls. Ordinary lives are so boring!" Sophie sighed and Mary promised to take care of the bll. They exchanged goodbyes and probably hugs and kisses, then Sophie walked away from the café, past John who snuggled closer to the flower pot.

Then Sophie looked back to Mary and waved; and John froze.  
Was this… Irene Adler?


	24. Chapter 23

**And every occasion I'll be ready for a funeral.**

* * *

 _Right. Sorry about that. (I say that every chapter... Please accept my apologies for all late chapters, because I'm shit at time management and I work too much? :c )_

 _Band of Horses - The Funeral_

* * *

John couldn't get that thought out of his head. He knew it was not possible, and he had had only a very short glance, but Sophie just looked so much like Adler, it was uncanny. Had she had a sister, or a very close cousin maybe? Or had his eyes deceived him completely?

He kept pondering over it and just shrugged Mary away when she came home with some takeaway food, and he barely slept at night.  
Yes, it did bother him because he had not trusted Irene Adler, and he did not trust Sophie, and both of them combined, in whichever way, could not be good.

To get some clearance, he went over to Baker Street first thing in the morning. Sherlock was going through some medical reports, by the looks of it, which was surprising. Normally, he left paperwork like this to John.  
Then again, John had had his own mission, and he had completed it very successfully in his opinion.

"John, good to see you up so early," Sherlock greeted him, but John only grumbled back. He felt a strong desire to have some tea before they started talking about business, and so he left the detective to himself and trotted in the kitchen.

When he saw the dead fetus on the table, though, he immediately turned around and firmly closed the door behind him. His stomach might be strong enough for this, his nerves were not.

"Sherlock, bloody hell. What. Is. This?!" he almost shouted, then forced himself to calm down.  
"Medical reports about abortions at different stages of the pregnancy, along with some cases of women who used the medication well after the legal deadline. With varied success by the way."  
"Not those. The _baby_ in the kitchen!" John spat, then started.  
"Varied success after the legal deadline? It should be disastrous in all cases. How official are these reports?"  
"Straight from Molly who got them from, I quote, 'that cute trainee from floor five'. It seems like someone will have to leave his job soon, but for now this works out perfectly well."

John breathed deeply. So maybe Mary's chances hadn't been that bad, but that didn't change the fact that she had killed the child and greatly endangered herself. And Sophie had helped.  
Sophie… Adler. The reason he was already here.

"Listen, Sherlock, about the meeting I saw yesterday…"  
"Yes, right! Did Mary suspect anything? Did anyone see you?"  
"No, I don't think so… But… She met with Sophie, as we thought. And I saw her, Sherlock, when she turned around. I could… I could swear it was Irene Adler!"

Finally, for the first time in their whole conversation, Sherlock looked up from his papers. His brow was furrowed in confusion and his eyes seemed to pierce John.  
"It… It can't be, right? She's dead, isn't she? And if she weren't, she wouldn't help my wife kill her baby, right?" John's voice had a hint of panic now, and immediately, Sherlock moved back to his reports. His tone was almost bored when he stated: "No, it can't be her. But maybe she had close relatives. We don't know enough about her, and Mycroft is proving unhelpful as always. But are you certain it was Adler? Perhaps it was just a very similar woman but with significant differences that escaped your notice because you only saw her face for a few seconds and by then your brain was convinced of your sighting already. It would not be the first occurrence of a misunderstanding like this, and we would want to be sure before taking action."

John shook his head. What Sherlock said made sense, and he wasn't sure at all anymore. He should have been prepared, maybe taken a picture with his phone, just to be sure.  
"Too bad, but it cannot be changed. I am almost done here, do you think there is a possibility I could have a look around your flat later? If Mary is not home of course. There are just some things I want to confirm," Sherlock asked, sounding professional, but John could hear a little excitement behind it.  
He grinned. His friend was back on his feet, at least for now, and this was just what they did best together - solve puzzles and unravel mysteries.

It had proven difficult to get Mary to leave the flat, but luckily, Molly stepped in again. She had called Mary and asked to meet up for coffee, and hinted that she might need her help, and so John's wife could barely do anything but say yes and go.  
John didn't know what Molly would tell her, but maybe it involved that cute trainee from floor five, that should probably keep them for a while.

When Sherlock entered the flat, he immediately stopped moving and scanned the living room. Some nodding and mumbling later, he proceeded to the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom.  
John just followed him around, waiting for some deductions to be made, but the detective remained unusually silent.

"So, do you have anything?" John asked him when the silence got too long for his restless mind.  
Instead of answering, Sherlock started pacing through the rooms, occasionally opening drawers or cupboards, lifting pillows and chairs, turning picture frames upside down and removing the clock from the wall.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John repeated impatiently. He wanted to know more about Mary, Sophie, the child; not about the battery status of the clock.

Immediately, Sherlock spun around, faced John and, brightly grinning, stated: "Right, excuse me! I think I have everything I needed from here. I will compare the results to my notes and then let you know what I found out! Have a nice day!"

Without answering, he was out of the flat and left a very confused John to tidy up the mess before Mary could ask what was up.


	25. Chapter 24

**They had breakfast together but two eggs don't last like the feeling of what he needs.**

* * *

 _Okay, so if all goes as planned, we'll have three more chapters after this before Christmas. I already wrote two, I only need to find the time to type them down. I'm trying my best! This one is a little shorter, the others should be better, I think. They all look long in my tiny little notebook so.. :D_

 _Hope you enjoy all those :)_

 _All Time Low - Remembering Sunday_

* * *

John managed to cook dinner before Mary was home, and she was clearly surprised about that. He had been so distant lately, it hadn't felt like he was putting much effort into their marriage, but this seemed like a step forward.  
And while Mary praised his pasta, John tried not to spoil everything by mentioning his guilty feelings and the plans he had with this dinner.

Afterwards, they agreed on doing the dishes the next morning and watch some telly instead, but John soon turned down the volume and looked at his wife.

"You know, when I had this conversation with Sophie - "  
"Which conversation?" Mary interjected and John reminded her of the text messages they had shared.  
"She said we should meet up when you're better, you and me and Sophie and her boyfriend. You certainly look a lot better yet, so what do you say?"

Mary's face showed a sign of shock and surprise for a second, but she soon caught herself.  
"I… I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I mean, I'm still a bit weak sometimes, I don't really want to go out…"  
"You went out with Molly today quite long."  
"Yes, but… I am not sure Sophie's boyfriend would be up for it."  
"Sophie said he would so don't worry about that."

Mary was running out of arguments, John could clearly see that. Had he been a good husband, he would have stopped pushing her and just accepted that she didn't want to; however, being a good husband was no longer one of his top priorities. If Mary kept secrets that involved their child and marriage, then John would play his part.

"Come on, just a nice dinner with friends. If you don't feel well, we can always leave."  
Mary nodded hesitantly.  
"Wonderful! I think this Saturday would be good, don't you think? I mean, it's soon, but we don't have any plans for the upcoming time, and surely you must get bored all alone in here! It will do you good to get back out there and meet people!"

Even to his own ears, John sounded way too excited and happy, but Mary seemed too busy being uncomfortable to notice.  
"You're probably right… I'll write Sophie to ask if they're free this Saturday."

Mary reached for her phone, but John stopped her.  
"Oh no, don't worry about it, I'll do it. I will set it up with Sophie and you will just enjoy a perfectly planned evening."  
He had to sound convincing here, he could not risk Mary just saying that Sophie would not be available and dodge the meeting this way. This had to work.

Luckily, Mary resigned and let John type the message to Sophie without arguing, even though she eyed him warily.

John did his best to suppress a triumphant grin; this was going better than planned. He could already see Sherlock's face when he told him about the progress. He would definitely approve of this approach, and maybe he'd actually grin for once.

John missed Sherlock's grin when there was new progress in a case, it had been way too rare lately. Or maybe it was his own fault, with all this love drama. If was really ridiculous, all this chaos, when the only thing John wanted was to see Sherlock grin.  
He should never have stopped solving cases with him.

His beeping phone interrupted his thoughts - Sophie confirmed the date.  
"Saturday is fine, she proposed a nice restaurant not far from here.  
I'm really looking forward to meeting Sophie, she seems to be such a huge part in your life lately. I'm glad we're doing this," he told Mary and she actually laughed.  
"The way you're smiling makes me think you might be in love with her! If it makes you so happy, then I'll try my best to feel good so we can go."

John bit his lip. In love with Sophie? Most likely not.  
At least it had not been her face he had thought about just now.  
This was very concerning.

"I don't even know her yet, so don't worry about it. Now that this is settled, want to have some snacks? I bought some in case we wanted to have a movie evening today."  
Mary nodded and watched John closely as he got a bag of biscuits from the kitchen. When he sat back down on the couch, she huddled close to him and turned the volume of the telly up again. John tried to concentrate on the show that was playing, but he felt uncomfortable all the same. This was wrong, this was not what he wanted.

 _Only a little longer. Only a little more until you have all your answers, and then you can solve this and it'll be fine,_ he told himself and forced a smile for Mary.

It would be fine.


	26. Chapter 25

**I long for the moment our silence is broken.**

* * *

 _Number 2 here! I hope I find the time to type out the others before Christmas as well, but I'm giving my best! Have fun c:_

 _Rise Against - Whereabouts Unknown_

* * *

Mary had not planned on going out today, her feeling told her to sit on the couch in her pyjama and watch some series while drinking tea and eating cake.  
Life, however, seemed to have other plans.

John asked if she wanted to take a walk in the park, but it was easy to turn him down.  
Then he mentioned friends that she hadn't seen for a while, maybe they wanted to catch up?  
Or maybe Mary would like to go shopping, there was this new store around the corner that had just opened and apparently had beautiful bags.  
Mary started to get seriously annoyed when he finally wandered off to check on his work, and gratefully she sank back into her blanket that she had brought to the couch with her.

Then her phone rang and she let out an irritated sigh. But when she saw Molly's name on the screen, she smiled.  
Molly had said she wanted to meet up, but it had felt more like she'd wait for Mary to set the date. But apparently, she was more eager to have that coffee than Mary had thought, and that was nice.

"Mary, could we meet up? Now? I think I need your help."  
It sounded urgent and Mary's smile disappeared.  
"Molly, are you okay?" she asked, worried.  
"Oh! Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's just… I'll tell you when I see you, alright? But I'm fine!"  
Unconvinced, Mary promised to set off at once and to meet Molly at a café they both knew in 30 minutes.

John had not said when he'd come back, he'd probably hang around Sherlock's after he was done, and Mary was really not in the mood to let him know where she was going. Should he worry when he came back, if he came back. These days, he was as unpredictable as never before.

Mary arrived slightly before Molly and had just ordered her cappuccino when the other woman arrived.  
"Mary, thank you so much for coming! You see, I'm in a bit of a dilemma here…"  
And she launched into a story about a trainee at the hospital and four different nurses, both male and female, that seemed suspiciously close to him, all while she was taking off her coat and seating herself. She only paused to order a coffee, then confessed that the trainee was awfully cute, that she was so insecure because there were these other nurses, and she didn't know if she should make a move or not.

"And that is why I came here today?" Mary asked a little astonished.  
"Well, yes. Is that bad? I told you not to worry!" Molly exclaimed and flushed. She looked so innocent, Mary couldn't possibly be mad at her, even when she had 'ruined' her couch-day, so she laughed and thought about the situation.  
"Well, I wouldn't go in full-force. But there's no harm in getting to know him, right? Just ask him out, for lunch or so. And if you think it's about to get serious, you can still worry about these others. And after all, I'm sure they can't compete against you."

Molly flushed again and seemed lost for words.  
"Your cappuccino and coffee, ladies," the waiter interrupted them softly and placed their drinks in front of them. "Enjoy!"

For a while, both women didn't say anything; finally Molly asked: "So, are you and John okay again?"  
Mary only shrugged. If only she herself knew the answer to that.  
"He seems… distant. He was so sweet right after I left the hospital, making dinner for me and trying to keep me company all the time, but now we barely talk. He's at work or with Sherlock a lot, and I can feel that he doesn't want to be too close to me. I don't know what I did! But before, he always talked about what bothered him. Surely he would have told me if there was something going on?"

For a second, there was a trace of certainty in Molly's look, like she knew something, but then she sighed and sipped her coffee.  
"I don't know, Mary, maybe he's just trying to give you some space? I mean, these past days have not been easy for both of you. Maybe he just wants to find back to a daily routine. If he doesn't talk about it, I wouldn't worry too much. You could meet up more with me to pass the time, I'd be happy to keep you company. And when did they say you could go back to work again?"

It was still two weeks until then, Mary had the date constantly in her mind. Even though staying at home was nice, she did miss work and the changes it brought to her day.  
But maybe Molly was right and she just needed to go out more. The problem was, she didn't know that many people. Basically, only Sophie remained besides Molly, and that was more of a business relation. Mary couldn't really picture her with the younger woman, just casually talking about men and make-up, or clothes, or movies.  
And everyone else was an associate of John's and she would never think of meeting any of them without him.  
So for now, Molly had to do, but that was still better than nobody, right?


	27. Chapter 26

**False pretense: You'll hurt again.**

* * *

 _Yay I did it! Gotta leave in 10 minutes for my train to home, but I managed to still type the chapter! Hope that makes you happy, I'll try to type the last one for this year tomorrow, but I cannot make any promises because I don't have a PC there and have to ask my family to lend me one. Anyway, I will be on vacation for the rest of the year so have a very merry happy Christmas and a great start in the new year! Love you all!_

 _The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - False Pretense_

* * *

"Mycroft, I thought I had expressed my wish to not see you here anymore more than once," Sherlock said without looking up as soon as his door opened. And truly, his older brother stepped into the living room, small droplets of water dripping from his umbrella onto the carpet, yet he made no indication of removing it.

Silently, he looked around the flat and furrowed his brow in scepsis, but re did not comment on what he saw.  
Finally, Sherlock sighed and asked: "Since obviously, you are not leaving, would you do me the honour of explaining your visit? Or do you want to stand in the doorway and gawp like a fish all day?"  
That seemed to shake Mycroft out of his stupor for he uninvitedly sat down on the couch between the mess and earnestly looked his brother in the eye.  
"Sherlock, you know why I'm here."  
"I do, and I don't care. Be realistic, when did those conversations ever change my mind?"  
"One does not stop hoping. Please, Sherlock, no good has ever come of this. Last time you almost died, the time before you almost died… Am I supposed to just watch this?"  
"Tut tut, one would think you actually care about me?"  
"What would mother say? How am I supposed to explain this? Illogical though it sounds, society requests me looking after my little brother, and I can't let them down. There's too much at stake, you know that."  
"Ah, there's the Mycroft I know. Well done, brother mine. I heard you, now go."

Mycroft sighed. He had known this was a bad idea, but he couldn't have not come. There was too much at stake, even more than Sherlock could ever know.  
"Sherlock…" he tried again, vowing not to leave without having achieved his goal.  
"I really don't want to see you die. You are my brother, and nature has made me value this connection. I know you experience the same thing. Please let me help you see reason. You need to step back from this case, from John Watson, and - most importantly - from Mary Watson."

Sherlock flinched at the mention of John's name, and at first Mycroft felt optimistic towards his cause, but then his brother spoke.

" You should not lecture me about personal cases. I know the risk, but I also know how far I can go. Unlike you, wou would not stop even if the lives of your whole family depended on it. So please, stop your lectures and your threats and come back to give me advice when you actually know what you are talking about."

The air in the room seemed to have got thinner and Mycroft tried very hard to breathe normally. His little brother could not see how much this affected him, how hard the memory still hit him. He could have done well without ever being reminded of that incident, but of course Sherlock would never grant him this mercy.

"Fine," Mycroft finally managed to say, "I see you're not in a state for reason at the moment. We will talk later, if you can prevent a catastrophe until then."  
While he turned and left the flat, he heard Sherlock call almost cheerfully: "Later, Mycroft!"


	28. Chapter 27

**If we live a life in fear, I'll wait a thousand years, just to see you smile again.**

* * *

 _Alright! It's four days later than planned, but I hope you still like it. This is probably the last chapter for this year since I'm at my mum's place and just borrowed her pc to type this, not sure if I manage that again. But I have awesome plans for next year so look forward to that!_  
 _I hope you had great Christmas days and a great last week of the year, please be careful celebrating and I'll see you all next year! :)_  
 _Thanks to everyone for your support, it really helps, even though it's just a few comments. Everything counts!_

 _Muse - Resistance_

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, John really was not sure how he should feel.  
On one hand, he was curious to officially meet Sophie and he was impatient to advance in his mission because staying around Mary got more and more difficult without spoiling anything; but on the other hand he had a very uneasy feeling about Sophie.

What if Sherlock had been wrong, what if Irene Adler was still alive, what if she wanted revenge on John for…  
He couldn't really think of a reason, but she probably could. The first step had been to kill the baby, and she had had a high chance of taking Mary, too. It couldn't be too long, then his wife would be dead and then it would either be Sherlock or John himself.  
He was convinced that this woman was a coldblooded murderer, and he had to stop her!

"John, darling, are you ready?"  
Mary's voice woke him out of his stupor.  
"Oh, yeah, sure, I'm here," he answered a little absentmindedly and pushed open the bathroom door.  
Before him stood Mary, already wearing her coat, below he could see the blue dress he had gifted her for their first anniversary. He had always found her beautiful in it, but today it only made him nervous.  
He swallowed his fear and said: "You look great. Let's go?"  
Mary smiled and together they made their way to the restaurant.

It was a small chinese place which smelled a little too much like fried fish, but other than that John immediately liked it.  
The young waitress showed them to the table that Sophie had already vacated, she and her boyfriend both stood up to greet the couple.

"John, so great to finally meet you. Mary, John, this is Mark."  
So Mary had not met him yet, this was interesting.  
They shook hands and sat down, then ordered their food, all without talking too much.

It became quite an uncomfortable silence, and John could barely stand it.  
From up close, Sophie still looked a lot like Adler; even though he now clearly could see that it wasn't her, it still made him uneasy. They had to be related, and it couldn't be a coincidence that she was not plotting with his wife.

"So, John, you're a doctor, aren't you?" Sophie asked and John jumped a bit.  
"Yes, I'm currently employed at a private clinic not too far from our flat, but I'm trying to get a job in a hospital as a surgeon."  
"Oh, why's that?"  
"Just… It just interests me more. I guess."  
He could see that Sophie's curiosity wasn't satisfied, but he wouldn't tell her everything immediately. She could not be trusted.

There was another awkward silence until their drinks arrived, then, out of the blue, Mark started talking about Hockey. Sophie looked a little apologetic, but John didn't really care. He had never really been interested in sports of any kind, except for what he had had to do for the army, and he still felt uncomfortable so close to a woman that looked so much like The Woman.

Mary seemed to enjoy herself and laughed about jokes that Sophie told in the rare moments Mark kept his mouth shut.  
Food came, but John barely managed to eat anything, he was constantly watching the women, trying to find signs of scheming, shared looks or hidden messages. Even though nothing of the sort happened, he couldn't stop imagining scenarios in which he would have to knock Sophie out because she decided that she didn't need Mary anymore; and John had been in the way all the time.

He started sweating and always looked around nervously, until Mary finally addressed him.  
"John, are you alright? You look a little pale, maybe we should go home?"  
 _No!_ This was not acceptable! He couldn't leave until he had results, something was supposed to happen, anything!  
"I'll just… I'll be right back," he excused himself and made his way to the bathroom.  
Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he could have mistaken himself for one of his patients. He was pale as a ghost, his cheeks were flushed, though, and sweat was running down his forehead and neck. He couldn't go out there again, this had been a big mistake, he couldn't do it.

Fighting himself, he finally pulled out his phone and texted Sherlock.  
 **18:26 :** Emergency. Get me out. Wung Li, table at the window. -JW  
 **18:27 :** Ten minutes. Be ready. -SH  
John let out a relieved sigh and splashed cold water in his face. He needed to go out there before they decided to send Mark to look after him, and he needed to look normal enough not to raise any more suspicion.

Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped firmly out of the door and tried to look a little cheerier as he made his way back to the table.  
"John, are you okay?" Mary asked worriedly. He nodded and attempted a smile, which seemed to fool only Mark, who continued eating after that.  
John also took a couple of bites, even if he had to force them down his throat, just to seem a bit more convincing.

Suddenly, the door to the restaurant burst open and what seemed like a walking coat ran in.  
A second later, Sherlock stood next to John, panting.  
"Case, need you, now."  
And with that, he ran outside again. John had to repress a laugh.  
Apologetically, he looked at the three others, then murmured: "I better go, see what he's up to. Sorry."  
Then he grabbed his own jacket and left, ignoring the furious looks that Mary shot him.

Outside, a cab was waiting and as he got in, Sherlock signalled the driver to move.  
For a while, they drove in silence until they pulled over at Baker Street.

"Actually, there is a case you could help me with."


	29. Christmas Special

**So this is Christmas, and what have you done?**

* * *

 _Sooooo this is a kinda late Christmas special. I had wanted to post it directly on Christmas, but Christmas got in the way, I'm so sorry!_

 _Hope you're still in Christmas- mood, because I think you might like this :3_  
 _Happy new year, also, btw!_  
 _Next chapter is in writing, so I hope I get it done soon :)_  
 _I noticed that I made a few planning mistakes in the last chapters, I will sort that out at some point, like for example that no one complains about the cold when it's obviously February and stuff like that. Please just ignore that for now? :) I'll work on it, I promise._

 _John Lennon - Happy Xmas (War is over)_

* * *

"Actually, there is a case with which you could help me."  
John looked curiously at Sherlock and waited for him to elaborate. The detective, though, only grinned mysteriously and said: "I'll explain it to you when we're back at the flat, if you don't mind. I suppose going home might only be a risk of running into Mary and having to explain yourself."

He was right, there was nothing to be said against it. And having a case with Sherlock again, a completely unrelated, neutral case…  
Childish excitement took hold of him.  
When they got out of the cab, a pleasant smell crept into John's nose. And even before he opened the door to the flat, he asked Sherlock: "Did you bake cookies?"  
He barely couldn't believe himself asking this, but the scent was without doubt coming from Sherlock's kitchen, not Mrs. Hudson's.  
His friend, however, did not respond and instead opened the door. John thought his heart might stop of shock.

Everything was decorated in red and green, a fir tree with ornaments stood next to the fireplace and several light strings were hung up on the walls.  
"Sherlock…" John cautiously began, "you do know that we're in March, right? Christmas was almost three months ago, and we even celebrated it, at your parents' place."  
He was not sure if this was some sort of joke or if Sherlock had suffered from his almost-overdose more than they thought.

"But you like Christmas, don't you, John? What's wrong with celebrating Christmas whenever we feel like it?"  
That only earned him a sceptical look from John, who really thought about calling the hospital immediately, so Sherlock hurried to say: "Okay, okay, it's for a cold case Lestrade gave me. I need to recreate the atmosphere. Do you think it's convincing?"

At that moment, a snowman on a shelf started singing _Silent Night_ , which surprised John so much he had to laugh.  
"You're unbelievable. So those _are_ cookies you made?"  
Sherlock grinned and took off his coat. Below, he wore one of the most hideous Christmas sweaters John had ever seen, which made him only laugh more. Sherlock ignored him and pulled out a similar sweater in different colours from under the couch, then tossed it to John.  
"Wear this."  
John sighed, but somehow he was also curious to see what this was all about, and so he took off his own jacket and pulled the sweater over his head. It fit perfectly and didn't even scratch. He had to admit that it felt very nice.  
"What now?" John asked and Sherlock retreated to the kitchen. Only a moment later he gestured John to sit in his usual armchair, a plate of cookies in hies hand.  
"Tea?" he asked and the Doctor nodded, suppressing a smile. This was a Sherlock he had never known, being nice and openly caring about other people. Then again, it was for a case, that definitely explained the dedication the detective showed.

While he was still wondering about the situation, Sherlock put a cup of tea on the small table next to him, and it turned out to be perfect. This got more and more surprising.

Sherlock smiled and sat across him, offering him cookies, which tasted wonderful. John forgot about the weird dinner, about Sophie and Hockey-Mark, about Mary and the dead child. All he felt was Christmas, and he found that Sherlock had done a very convincing job in recreating the holiday.

"How are the cookies John?" Sherlock asked and John praised them as much as he could.  
"So no weird taste to them? You still feel good?"  
This was suspicious.  
"What did you do to them?" John asked, trying his best to stay calm but anger started to bubble up. Why couldn't they have one normal, nice evening?  
"It's not dangerous, I promise! They're supposed to make you happy and maybe a bit lightheaded and careless, but it's not drugs. I can't tell you what it is now because it might affect your behaviour, but after this evening I will give you the whole case file and you will know everything. So please just go with it?"

John sighed. He should have known something like this would happen, but somehow he couldn't really be angry with his friend.  
"Is there something in the tea as well?" he asked cautiously and Sherlock actually laughed and shook his head. Then he pressed a button on a remote control and some violin music started to play, no doubt recorded by himself just before.  
"Let's have presents. I'm aware it's a custom on Christmas."  
John started. "I don't have anything for you, I didn't know about this."  
"Don't worry, I prepared something for you to give to me as well. This way, it is also guaranteed to be of my taste."  
John laughed. Of course Sherlock would see it this way.

"Alright, let's have it then."  
Sherlock pulled out two boxes, neatly wrapped in green and red paper with reindeer heads on it; one he gave to John immediately, the other after half a minute of waiting.  
"Happy Christmas, John," he said and John handed him his own box.  
"Happy Christmas, you madman," he laughed, then pulled the ribbon off his box.

Inside, he found a book about the rarest poisons in the world with their antidotes and other tips to survive them. It wasn't anything he would have wished for, but he had to admit that it was a very interesting subject and might come in handy some time.

"Oh, John, you got me the new book about tobacco that I eyed for a while now! Thank you so much, how did you know this would be the perfect present?" Sherlock exclaimed and John laughed.  
"Thanks for the book, Sherlock, it was very thoughtful of you. You didn't poison the cookies, though, did you?"  
A horrid look appeared on John's face until Sherlock said: "John, you always think such horrible things. Why would I want to poison you? I need my blogger!"  
The doctor smiled and went to hug Sherlock, who stood up to meet him halfway.

"You seem in a much better mood now," the detective observed and John had to agree. He didn't know if it was just being away from that restaurant, if it was the nice Christmas-atmosphere in the flat or actually the cookies, but he didn't really care. Sherlock had said the cookies weren't dangerous, and feeling happy for one evening would only do him good. So he just went with it.

Sherlock pulled out a list and crossed out some lines, then said: "Next would be… Dancing or board games are common, I believe. I guess I'm getting the Cluedo then?"  
He made to move to a shelf behind the couch, but John stopped him.  
"Oh no no no. I told you I'm not playing that! I'd rather dance, if I have to!"  
Sherlock turned around, a surprised look on his face.  
"Alright then," he said slowly and changed the music track to something slower. John automatically moved towards his friend, stood in position and offered his hands.  
At first, their dance was awkward, but soon they both relaxed and even stepped a little closer together.  
A small voice in John's head asked what he was doing there, but he shut it up. Sherlock had been smiling quite a lot today, the way John had wanted him to, and after all it was probably just the stuff in the cookies. He could blame it all on them later.

They danced on and on, one song after another; every piece more beautiful and soft than the one before. Finally, the recording stopped and the two men stepped apart.

John cleared his throat.  
"That was… nice," he said and smiled a little. He wasn't sure what any of this meant, if it meant anything; and what sort of case was this anyway?

The beep of his phone brought him out of his thoughts, and even though he had no intentions of answering any texts now, he still took a look at the time. It was past eleven and he really should go home.  
He probably was in enough trouble as it was already.

"I really hope I could help you with your case, but it's late and I should go now…"  
He pointed to the door, feeling a little awkward. But Sherlock only nodded and brought him his coat, then guided him to the door.

"Thank you a lot for your help, John. I will let you know the details tomorrow the latest so you can blog about it," he said and John felt like a huge distance had just been brought between them. Feeling a little insecure, he made to hug Sherlock, who at first didn't respond to it at all, but then he returned the embrace with enormous strength.

John smiled up at his friend, and that was when he saw the mistletoe hanging at the door frame.  
And without thinking, he kissed Sherlock on the lips.

The detective answered immediately and drew John in with his warm lips, occasionally caressing him with his tongue.  
When they finally pulled apart, John blushed a deep red and whispered: "I swear, it's all the cookies. They were a full success, Sherlock…"

The detective, however, smiled faintly and then whispered back: "Let me tell you a secret, John…  
There was nothing in those cookies."


	30. Chapter 28

**Seems I've crossed the line again for being nothing more than who I am.**

* * *

I am so sorry. I went without internet for I don't even know how long, and on top of that, there's so much going on in my life atm...  
New flat, trying to get a new job, trying to get everything else done as well.  
I cannot promise to post more often since I don't know if I have internet back home (currently posting this from my boyfriend's place) buuuuut I have three more chapters written out and a hell lot more planned. So maybe it actually works and I can give you more stuff soon.  
Thank you everyone who is still following this story. :3

Shinedown - Bully

* * *

The next time Mary met Molly was actually because Mary called first. After the disastrous meeting with Sophie and Mark, she really needed someone to talk to. Someone who would listen and understand.  
Someone like Molly.

They met this evening, in a bar that was a little bit far away from Mary's flat, but she didn't want to run into anyone she knew. And even though she normally wasn't the alcoholic type, she ordered a strong beer for herself.

"So, what's up?" Molly asked as soon as they both had their drinks.  
(Molly was having a tea that came with a weird look from the waiter, but she didn't care anyway.)  
Mary sighed.  
"John insisted on meeting Sophie so we set up a double-date-dinner. I knew it was a bad idea because I know both of them very well - John and Sophie that is - and I just couldn't imagine that he'd like her.  
And he was jumpy all day, then he started to look sick, didn't even try to behave, and then came Sherlock and pulled him away for a case. Being the loyal dog he is, John didn't even hesitate to follow, leaving me with Sophie and Mark, who had no clue what was going on."

Molly sighed, too.  
"That sounds like something the boys would do, yes. Did he at least text you what is was about?"  
Mary shook her head, but she hadn't expected a message anyway.  
"He doesn't tell me anything recently. We barely talk and he seems… uncomfortable all the time. He denies any problem, though, so… Is it just me, imagining things? Or is there actually something really wrong?"  
Mary felt insecure, which made her nervous. Most of the time, she had her life under control. Her life and her love.  
Only a while ago had everything started to shatter.

"Oh Mary, I wish I could give you an answer but I haven't talked to John in ages. Maybe you two should see a therapist? That would certainly help more than my random rambling."  
Mary had to laugh a little.  
"You shouldn't think so bad of yourself, this is a great help. I haven't had someone to talk to for far too long. Yes, I had John, but… He's still a man."  
Both women started snickering.  
"Talking about men, what happened to the trainee? Did you talk to him?" Mary asked and Molly sighed.

"Yeah, that was horrible. I mean, in the beginning it was nice. He seemed totally oblivious about all these girls fawning over him, and blushed when I asked him for a coffee meeting. That one went well, too. I really though we could find some common ground, until after the dinner we had.

He had started making sexist remarks and yesterday, he asked me to join him on the toilet in our break.  
In front of all these girls. Who just screamed 'Take me instead!'.  
I really thought I'd die of embarrassment. And this is supposed to be a serious work environment. Men are certainly awful.

Mary gave her a sympathetic look.  
"Oh, Molly, I'm sorry to hear that. Just don't give up, one day you'll find the one who's meant for you, I'm sure of it."  
Molly brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, then she said: "Yeah, well, for now I'll just stop looking. I really don't want to be bothered with all this. And who knows, maybe I'll give up on men completely. I know for a fact that there are some nice women out there as well."  
She actually winked at Mary, who had to laugh.  
"I love your optimism. It's really nice to see you laugh despite all this."  
"Someone once said 'Worrying means you'll suffer twice.' I can't live by it completely, but sometimes it really helps."  
They smiled at each other, then Mary made a decision.

"I really enjoy this. Thanks, Molly," Mary said and a very serious look stood on her face.  
Molly blushed.  
"So do I. We should really do this more often."  
Mary nodded. She really liked this idea because she had really started to like Molly.  
"How about some movie together? We could go see one tomorrow," she suggested and earned herself a surprised look from Molly for it.  
"That sounds great! There's this new one with Brad Pitt, would you like to see that?"

Excited, they continued to chitchat about various movies, actors and places to go, and Mary's bad mood seemed blown away. For the first time in a long while, she felt like everything could be okay, in one way or the other.


	31. Chapter 29

**Come turn the page.**

* * *

 _Since my internet still isn't good enough to post anything when I'm home, you had to wait until I was back at my bf's place. Sorry for that. But here's the next chapter! I'm staying here until Friday so I'll try and get another chapter online before I leave, since I don't know when I'll be back here._

 _It's a bit short but I hope you still like it. It doesn't add tooooo much to the story but I still found it necessary to include :)_

 _Blind Guardian - Turn The Page_

* * *

While the men were playing, Sherlock carefully studied them. It was a nice Sunday for a Hockey game, maybe a little bit cold, but real men didn't care. At least that was what they had told him when he had bought the ticket.

Finally, the game appeared to have come to an end and Sherlock moved into position.  
"Mark! So nice to see you! Great game that you played, you really deserved the win!"  
Mark only eyed him suspiciously and tried to pass Sherlock to get into his changing room.  
"Oh, I didn't even introduce myself, how rude of me! I'm Sherlock, a friend of John's. He told me how passionate you were about Hockey and I just had to come and see you play! I see, he didn't exaggerate!"

At those compliments, Mark smiled a little, seemingly flattered.  
"I didn't know he listened to me, that John. He was a bit ill I think, always looked like he's falling of his chair."  
"Yeah, he does that, don't worry.  
Anyway, I was wondering. I heard about Sophie. She's your girlfriend, right?"

Mark nodded, suddenly seeming wary again.  
"Why is she not here? Is she not interested in your passion?" Sherlock continued asking.  
"She had to work. Normally she comes here to support me, but with that new job of hers she barely has time. She really works hard, you know, so we can afford all we have."  
"New job? When did she start that? And for what job does she have to work on a Sunday?" Sherlock inquired. He realised he sounded a little too interested, but it was too late to go back now.

Apparently, Mark noticed it as well.  
"What's it to you? I thought you were here about the Hockey? Or are you actually trying to steal my girlfriend, trying to get to her through her job? Or… Are you actually already with her and her new job is only a pretense and that's why she doesn't tell me what exactly it is!"  
So he didn't know either.. Interesting.

Sherlock was pretty sure Sophie's entire relationship with Mark was only a pretense, but he didn't want to anger the man too much. Even right after an exhausting game, he might be able to overcome Sherlock, who was still a bit weak after his overdose.

"If she used her new job as an excuse to see me, why would I be here, then instead of with her?" he pointed out and Mark nodded consideringly.  
"Anyway, I didn't want to keep you from your shower. Thanks for the talk, Mark!"  
And without waiting for an answer, Sherlock left the hall. He had a better idea how to go at this, even though he didn't really like it and he was sure that John would be angry if he found out about it. But afterwards, after they had solved the problem around Mary and Sophie, Johny would be very happy, forgive him and quite possibly even realise his feelings. It would be worth it.

Even before he was home, he dialled a number he had always tried to forget. Now he was glad he hadn't - and even gladder that it was still active when she said: "You're not supposed to haver this number. Whoever you are, quickly hang up and hope that I will not come after you."  
Sherlock smiled. He had almost missed this.

"Irene Adler, the dominatrix. Or no, the public consultant it is, now, isn't it? Shouldn't you be averse to such threats now? I thought you wanted to keep a low profile?"  
He heard a relieved sigh on the other end.  
"Sherlock. I should have known. Can't forget me?"  
He could almost hear her smile, but for some reason he wasn't annoyed by it today.  
"I need some information. There has been a death and a possible blackmail and - as much as it pains me to say - you're the only one I can ask."  
"How exciting! Do tell me more!" Irene exclaimed, but she went very quiet after Sherlock told her what it was about. He almost suspected the line to go dead, but then he heard some paper shuffling, and finally, she spoke again.

"This can't be done via phone. Whatever it is, if it has to do with her, then it's serious. I'm coming back, and then I expect you to walk me through everything that's happened."  
She hang up and Sherlock sighed. This would not end well, but it would end worse if he let Sophie do her thing, so there really was no other way.  
Reluctantly, he drove home and poked at the dead babies in the kitchen. According to John, this would be highly unethical, but it helped him think almost as much as cocaine, and he also knew what John had to say to that.  
And it was also very informing, and the sooner they could prove what Mary had done, the sooner John would openly love him.  
And that was what counted.


	32. Chapter 31

**If you never meant to leave, then you only had to stay.**

* * *

 _Yes, I have to admit, it's been a while. In my defense, I'm in the middle of moving. Big move, new job, quite far away, and in the meantime here still my work and stuff. I'm sorry about that. I'll try to post another chapter before I move since I don't know how it will be internet-wise as soon as I move, but I really don't want to make any promises. But I will not abandon this fic, promises. I got the plot outlined almost until the end, and I'm very determined to finish this, so there we go. :)_

 _This chapter is a little longer, I hope that makes up a little for less postings? :c_

 _Rise Against - Injection_

* * *

"I met with Molly on Saturday. It was very nice," Mary told him over dinner.

John almost shrugged. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do with this information.  
But then he remembered that he should really try to be a good husband, and so he asked: "How is she doing? It's been a while since I had the chance to talk to her."  
"Oh, she's good. She tried dating again, but it failed. It seems love isn't kind to anyone recently."

John was left speechless at this open… complaint? Admission? He couldn't even tell.  
He himself had tried to at least keep the pretense and to make it as easy as possible. He knew that it wasn't going well and that Mary felt it, but she didn't do anything, so it was what it was.

"The bar we visited was very nice, and I had hoped you would accompany me to it some time. This evening maybe."  
No. That was not what John wanted, and before he could actually think about it, he had told Mary already how tired he was. Unlike all the other times, though, this time she complained.

"You're always tired, you always work. Unless you want something, like Saturday. I kept telling you it's a bad idea, but you don't listen. And then you just ruin it for me and completely embarrass me. Seriously, what were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking?" Her voice had gone so shrill and high-pitched that John was tempted to cover his ears, but he resisted. He was a grown man, no child.

"Mary, I'm sorry, but - "  
"Keep your sorry, you don't even mean it!"  
With that, she stood up and left her half eaten pasta and her husband to think about the accusations. The bedroom door slammed shut and suddenly John's already small appetite was gone as well. What a great way to end the day.

Annoyed, he put the plates away and saved the rest of the dinner for tomorrow, but he wasn't really in the mood to clean up.  
Then again, there wasn't really anything else that he could do since he definitely didn't want to join Mary in the bedroom and his mind was far too agitated to read or watch telly now.  
What he really needed was some way to let off steam - or to distract him. Maybe Sherlock had news on Sophie? It was early but the man was fast, especially if he wanted something.  
And John was sure that Sherlock wanted to finish this case as quickly as possible.  
He had tried to avoid contact with him for the last two days because he just wasn't sure how he should handle the situation. He knew he had to face the incident eventually, but first he had to think about what actually happened and how he felt about it, but he didn't want to admit that to himself.  
In that moment it had been so easy, blaming the cookies for the longing of Sherlock's touch, but after finding out they had been completely normaly, thing's weren't so simple anymore.  
John suddenly felt the need to talk to someone, but of course there wouldn't be anyone available. And he also wouldn't really know what to tell them, it would probably sound pathetic.

Pathetic, that's what he was.  
 _Man up, Watson,_ he told himself and decided to face his problems.

So once more he made his way to Baker Street, noticing that he got more and more annoyed by having to do so. Not by visiting the flat, no, but more by the way there.  
Everything had been so much easier when he had still lived there.

As he arrived, he heard voices from Sherlock's living room. Did he have a visitor? Or a client?  
John wasn't sure what he'd like less, Sherlock deeming their current case as unimportant enough to take on a new one, or Sherlock deeming other people important enough to meet them this late in the evening.

But when he opened the door, he found that it was actually neither of his thoughts.  
It was worse.

On the couch next to Sherlock sat Irene Adler, who was supposed to be dead.  
John couldn't really describe what he felt when he saw her. His whole body went hot and cold and he wanted to leave and simultaneously scream at her and tear her apart. She wasn't supposed to be here, she wasn't even supposed to exist anymore.  
She had caused so much trouble in their lives and apparently walked away unharmed.

 _And she came so close to Sherlock,_ John's subconscious whispered, but he shushed it as good as possible.

"John, what a surprise," Sherlock said and stood up to make space on the couch. Or to not give the impression that he was sitting close to Irene Adler?  
"Indeed," he answered, but his voice had a cold touch to it.  
No, he was definitely not happy to see Irene again.

The Woman only smiled arrogantly at hims and watched him as he sat down in his armchair, vehemently refusing to take the seat next to her. At least she was fully dressed this time.  
Sherlock started pacing as the silence grew longer and John wondered what they had talked about before that they couldn't or didn't want to continue now.  
"So," he started just to say something, "you're not dead. Guess I should have known?"  
She chuckled, but didn't say anything. John sighed. This already probmised to be tedious, and he had come here to take his mind off things, not to annoy him more.

"Was there any reason you came here, John?" Sherlock asked and John immediately wanted to leave again. If they didn't want him here, if they wanted to be alone, alright, they could have that.  
But of course, answering Sherlocks's question was polite and necessary first, so he did that.  
"I was just wondering if you had already found something on Sophie, but I'll come back another time. When it's more _convenient._ "

"Oh, but as a matter of fact, John, I did find something. I found Sophie's sister."  
He gestured to Irene and John actually gasped. So he hadn't imagined their similarity.

"Yes, hi, that's me," Adler said and tossed a casefile on the coffee table.  
"Sherlock already filled me in on your little problem, and I cannot urge you more to be careful. She might look innocent, but so do I -"  
"No, you don't," John intersected.  
"- And we all know what I can do. Also, I'm not here to help you permanently. I've come to give you information and some other things I can only do in person, but then I'm off to Australia again, and I expect not to be involved in this. There's a reason I chose to break contact with my sister."

Australia… Yes, that sounded like a good place for The Womand. John couldn't wait to get rid of her.  
He focussed on the file in front of him while he opened it.

The name said _Cathy Adler-Milstrom_ , apparently she was 33 and two years younger than her sister. After their parents had divorced, the sisters (then 16 and 18) had decided to rent a house on daddy's bank account and lived alone for six years.  
Cathy had fallen in love with an actor from New York and moved there with 22, but she never manaed to attract that guy's attention. A little bit frustrated, she had changed her last name to match that actor's, came back to London six years ago and lived once again off her father's money, who was too drunk most of the time to notice.

The casefile ended there, with no information about her time in New York at all and a blank on the six last years.  
"That's all? That's all you can tell us about your sister?" John asked disbelieving.  
"There are pages missing," Sherlock supplied from right behind and John jumped a little. He hadn't noticed the detective moving so close.  
"She's hiding some information from New York and quite a lite from the years back in London, given that the time was comparably quite short."  
"Oh, honey, don't be mad. I can't tell you everything now, can I?" Adler said and John wanted to strangle her.  
"Then why did you come here? Couldn't you just sent this file to Sherlock and leave us be?"

The Woman smiled. John didn't like it.  
"Because there's this," she answered and pulled a phone out of her pocket. John groaned. He'd had quite enough of Irene Adler's phones for a lifetime.  
"What's on it?" Sherlock asked and looked like he wanted to grab it right from her hands.  
He refrained himself and watched as Irene unlocked it with her fingerprint. Oh, she had become clever now.  
What she showed them now sent shivers down their backs.

It were a couple of pictures from a murdered man who apparently was Alexander Milstrom, a quite successful, though unfamous Broadway actor in New York.  
That alone was not so shocking, but the next picture showed an article from a small American newspaper. The headline read **Murdered Broadway actor secretly married - widow in open mourning**.  
The picture below showed Sophie - or rather Cathy - all in black and seemingly crying while telling her story to the press.

"We wanted to keep it quite so he didn't get too much trouble. He did have some fangirls that took all of it very seriously," the article quoted her.  
Before they could read it all, though, Adler showed them the next picture.

Not long after Alexander had been murdered, the rest of the family Milstrom followed in the same manner. Police suspected an enemy of the Milstroms, but the fact that Irene showed them this said more than any article would have been able to.

"She inherited from all the family, but still she came asking me for money. I told her 'Cathy, you're 27 now, you have to make your own living.' Then she used my father's bank account again. She had me followed, and when I found out I looked into her affairs a bit.  
Apparently just in time beacuse a hitman wanted to take me out. When I escaped, I shut myself away from her and I do not intend on getting mixed up in her affairs again.

This is all I can tell you, and I hope you fo your best with this information."  
She packed away her phone in an inner pocket of her coat that she now put on, then made her way to the door.

"Wait, you're just leaving like that?" John asked startled.  
"Yes, of course. I cannot give you more information, and I will not get too close to her. I'm going back to Australia. She hasn't found me there, yet. Good evening, gentlemen."

And with that, she disappeared. John immediately felt the tension leaving his body - he hadn't even noticed that he was so strained.

"Well, that was interesting," he sighed and Sherlock - now sitting on the empty couch again - nodded.  
"It was also highly informative and I'm certain we can work with this."  
He was right, they were quite some steps closer.

The thought that this Cathy had regular contact with his wife was quite scary, but Mary wasn't the most innocent person either. She had certainly done her homework for the job she had wanted done, and if was her own fault if something happened. She had known the risk.

After being so on edge, John suddenly felt very tired. Perhapy it was time to go home.  
But before he could do that, he at least had to talk about the incident.

"Listen, Sherlock… About what happened on Saturday…"  
"It was the cookies, I know," Sherlock interrupted him. "Or so you thought, which most of the time does the same thing to the human mind."  
John had come to the conclusion that he doubted that, but if Sherlock saw it that way, maybe it was best to leave it.  
Or it might hurt Sherlock, and he definitely didn't want to do that.  
He decided to take a different approach for ow.

"You said I'd get to know the details of the case. Fill me in now?"  
Sherlock flinched, then muttered: "There… was no case."  
John sighed. He should be angry about these news, he knew it. Sherlock had lied to him and cunningly planned to use John's weakness to his favour, but on the other hand, John could have left any time.  
He hadn't done anything he hadn't wanted to, and he had even initiated the kiss.  
And so he really couldn't be mad at his friend when it had please himself so much.

"Oh, Sherlock. What are we supposed to do?" he asked a little desperately, not really expecting an answer.  
The detective, of course, still gave one: "Well, the ideal approach would be for you to divorce Mary and move back into Baker Street and continue solving cases with me.  
However, since our current case prohibits that, we have to stay professional. So you have to stay with mary a little longer until we have enough evidence, and we also have to find out more about Sophie a.k.a. Cathy Adler-Milstrom. When this is done, we can think about ourselves."

That sounded good. Thinking about them together…  
Then John shook himself.  
"This is all going a bit fast, don't you think? I mean, I don't even know if I… You know. Without thinking it's the cookies."  
"I understand. We should focus on our case, then, and afterwards you can determine if you will stay with Mary or not."

The detective sounded hurt, and apparently he had got the wrong end of the stick.  
"No, no, I _will_ divorce Mary. I can't even stand being around her anymore - I just want to flee any time we get close, it's really hard. I think too much has happened between us, and.. To me, I guess.  
So… let's try to solve this case quickly and then… We can see what happens."

A flicker of hope shone in Sherlock's eyes and John hoped he did the right thing. If he messed up again, it might destroy everything completely.


	33. Chapter 32

**Like a soulmate, he's your penguin.**

* * *

 _Hey, so this will probably be the last chapter for a while. I'll be moving in two weeks and I don't know how soon we'll have internet in the flat, and before I still have sooo much to do. The next chapter is already half written, though, so probably as soon as I have internet and some free time, you'll be updated!_

 _It was brought to my attention that the last chapter seemed a bit hurried and lots of typos, I'm very sorry about that, I will try to edit it as soon as possible (even though I didn't want to edit before I finish the story, but I think the last chapter might be an exception.. Sorry!)_

 _Anyway, this one is a bit short so.. maybe I'll merge some chapters later on. Thoughts on this?_

 _Enjoy anyway, please :)_

 _Christina Perri - Penguin_

* * *

No matter what John did, he couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. He had told himself to focus, to be professional, to find distraction in work or books, but his thoughts refused to follow his orders.  
Whenever he had just managed to think about Mary in at least a partly fond way, he heard Sherlock's voice.  
"There was nothing in these cookies."

And suddenly his skin tingled and burned, then rapidly grew cold as ice and made him shiver. He could almost feel Sherlock's touch again, just the lean body pressed against his, a hug that could last forever.  
Or not, because it wasn't even a hug. Because Sherlock was in Baker Street, not here, because they had to stay professional.  
All at once, John felt lonely. Maybe he didn't care about staying professional. And maybe he didn't need more evidence on Mary. Maybe all he needed was Sherlock.

He shook himself.  
 _Watson, what are you thinking? You're insane. Listen to yourself. This is madness._  
He needed an impartial opinion on this.  
It was Tuesday evening, but he didn't care. He called Greg.

Thirty minutes later he found himself in 'their' bar, the DI next to him, both with beers in front of them. A normal night out.  
Except that John didn't want to talk about sports or work.

"Listen, this might sound weird but…"  
"It's about Sherlock, isn't it?" Greg asked and John nodded.  
"But how did you know?" he asked, only a little sarcastically.  
"Well, we'ver never really talked about anything else when we were out, so I figured I'm your therapist now."  
John immediately felt guilty.  
"Greg, this isn't what I intended, I can go without talking about him, we can just have a nice evening," he offered but the detective laughed.  
"Relax, John, it's also the most casual meetings I've had in months, so I'm not going to miss out on it. Tell me, what has he done this time?"

And without further hesitation, John told him all about the 'Christmas' evening and Adler and all his thoughts that he had.  
After he had finished, Greg didn't say anything at first. Then he smiled knowingly.  
"Don't worry, John. You two are made for each other. I doubted it at first but it's becoming clearer with every day. You shouldn't hesitate about Sherlock.. You're the first person I ever saw coming so close to him, and you're certainly the best to handle his personality. John, I do believe he's what others might call your Soulmate."

That was something John had not expected to hear, and his whole body wanted to deny it. It simply couldn't be.  
He only muttered "thanks" to Greg, then he fled the bar.

At home, he didn't see Mary anywhere, but that was just as well. This way, he could quietly pack his bag, search for the key of great-aunt Tessie's or Tally's or whoever's vacation home in Woodcote and call a cab without having to explain. He really needed some time away from everyone, and just shut in Mary's flat wouldn't do.  
Anything in London was too close to all those people having expectations about him, judging him.

And when he left the building, his backpack over his shoulder, he felt a small wave of relief washing over him.  
He would take some time, he would figure all of this out, and then he would act.


	34. Chapter 33

I'm falling on my knees right now, I'm covered in the mess I made.

* * *

 _I finally have internet! I am so sorry for the long wait but as it is with internet companies: It almost never works. But now I'm back, and I brought a chapter with me! The next one is already halfway written, so I hope I can successfully use the time in the train to work and back and give you a new chapter soon. That said, I still have a lot of work to do at my new flat so.. Not so sure about that. Sorry. :)_

 _Thank you to everyone who is still here, who is still reading, and of course thank you to everyone that came here just now or a while before - I love you all. :)_

 _Rise Against - The Black Market_

* * *

John returned three days later, his head clearer and a plan on his mind. He had thought a lot about himself these days, and only little about Mary.  
He had tried to listen to his heart and to feel what he was missing, and suddenly everything seemed obvious.

"Of course if was obvious, John, as always you see but you do not observe," his mind supplied in a perfect replica of Sherlock's voice.  
But it was not enough. He didn't want to hear it inside his head, he needed it in front of him.  
He needed the real Sherlock right now.

And it wouldn't take long until he could see the real Sherlock, and talk to him, and get criticised for his stupidity in reality, not only in his head.  
Full of anticipation, he entered the cab he had called and told the driver his destination. It was around an hour until he would arrive, so he tried to doze off a little, skipping the boring fields and woods outside of the windows, but his mind refused to rest. He was too agitated, thinking about the look on Sherlock's face when he would tell him about the future he had thought about.  
Because - he knew that now without a doubt - it would be a future of both of them together.

After a long and tedious driver, they finally arrived at Baker Street and John almost skipped to the front door. In his mind, he already sat in the living room upstairs, making plans by the fire and laughing with Sherlock.  
His dreams crumbled into dust when the door opened before he even put his key in, and Mrs. Hudson looked at him, her face full of sorrow.  
"Oh, John," she said, her voice wavering, and he knew something had happened.  
She refused to tell him more until he had a cup of tea in his hands, but then she wasn't to be stopped anymore.

Sherlock had disappeared shortly after John had left, Mrs. Hudson wasn't exactly sure when. But she had wanted to bring him tea yesterday, even though she wasn't their housekeeper, but the last days had been kind of stressful, hadn't they, and someone had to bring the poor man his tea, and that was just as well because otherwise she wouldn't even have noticed that he was gone for there was constant violin music coming from the upper flat but actually it was empty and no one knew where he had gone and she had already called the Yard but the Detective Inspector had informed her that Sherlock had to be missing for 48 hours at least and she couldn't say that for sure, and after all it wouldn't be too unusual for Sherlock to disappear by himself, was it?  
But Mrs. Hudson was sure something was off, she could feel it, and -

And here, John interrupted her by firmly saying: "Calm down, Mrs. Hudson. As far as we know it has only been one day, and that is absolutely normal for Sherlock, you know that as well as I do. He's probably just working a case. He promised me he wouldn't do anything stupid, and I trust him. He wouldn't risk his future now."

 _Our future_ , John added in his thoughts and tried to suppress the uneasy feeling in his stomach.  
Mrs. Hudson regarded him with a look which showed that she saw right through him - they both knew he was trying to convince himself as much as her. But nonetheless she nodded and refilled his mug, then asked: "You'll stay here, won't you, in case he comes back?"  
John nodded and cupped his tea with his hands, desperately reaching for the warmth inside, hoping it could keep the chilly nagging from his own mind.  
Something was wrong here, but he couldn't pinpoint it, and there was nothing he could do anyway, was there?

As he lay in his old bed that night, he listened to the cars pass outside, the occasional dog barking and the wind blowing against the window, and suddenly he knew what had bothered him so much in Mrs. Hudson's narrative:

Yes, Sherlock used to listen to his own recorded violin playing, but why would he not turn it off when he left?

He couldn't find an answer to it, not that night and not over the next day. He tried to be patient and even convinced Mrs. Hudson to wait until the following morning to call the Yard, even though the old lady definitely wasn't happy about it.  
But then Molly called, and John realised that the situation wasn't solving itself. Something very bad was going on.

Sherlock had asked for a few samples from the morgue and Molly had prepared them three days ago. But he hadn't picked them up, and now they had 'gone bad' and she had had to throw them away, and that was very unlike Sherlock, wasn't it?  
The concern in her voice was the only thing coming through to John; the blood in his ears drowned out her words.  
Molly was still talking, but John cut her off: "I'm calling the Yard. I'll keep you updated."

He didn't call the Yard, though. He went in himself, prepared to annoy any officers or detectives or the chief inspector himself until they'd send a search team for Sherlock. He had steeled himself on the way to the Yard, playing through so many different scenarios in his head that he mostly confused himself with them.  
In his mind, he practised the captain's voice he hadn't used in so long.

In the end, it was surprisingly easy. He stormed in, was immediately let through to Greg, who only sighed and nodded, and together they filed the necessary report. The DI even overlooked the fact that John wasn't the last one to see Sherlock - he knew that when John was worried and prepared to work with the police, it was serious.

When they were done, Greg said: "I'm glad you came in so fast. I couldn't file a missing person report myself, but I'm worried. I don't know what that idiot did this time, but I hope we're not too late."  
John only nodded, he had gone numb as soon as he had signed the form. Now it was out of his hands. All he could do was wait. He hated waiting.  
"You should go home now. Get yourself some tea and a good book, or anything else that takes your mind off things. Let Mary distract you, or start fighting with her, whatever."  
John protested. He wanted to help, he wanted to find Sherlock, they needed him!  
And most of all, he didn't want to go back to Mary's flat. But Greg wouldn't have it.

"You are not allowed in the investigation. And I will not give you a special permit this time, either. You're too involved, you cannot investigate objectively. Go home to Mary and wait until we call you. We will find him, John, I promise."

Grudgingly, John obeyed and took a cab back to the flat he had come to hate over the last weeks. He hoped Mary wouldn't be home, but his luck seemed to have run out when he came back from the vacation home.  
She was sitting on the couch when he entered the flat, her eyes locked on a magazine in her hands but her eyebrows rose judgingly.

"Look who's home," she said, toneless.  
John flinched.  
"Did you plan on letting me know you left or do you just not care anymore?"  
Her voice was as cold as ice and John felt it seep through his bones until he was unable to move.  
"I had… some things on my mind," he answered slowly. All his soldier's strength had left him and he felt powerless.

Mary snorted.  
"Yes, I'm sure you did. Like how long can you cheat on me before you have to face our problems?"  
"I never cheated on you!" John cried out but Mary waved him off.  
"Details and definitions, I don't care anymore. Something has to happen, and it has to happen now."  
She sounded like she wanted to say more, but the sound of John's phone ringing interrupted her.  
"Excuse me," he said, a little relieved, and pulled it out of his pocket. In an instant, Mary was by his side and took it away from him.  
"No, I will not excuse you," she snarled.  
"We will talk about this now and there is nothing that will prevent this, not even this house breaking down."

John knew that force wouldn't do it, so he tried a different approach: he started pleading.  
"Sherlock has disappeared, and the Yard might need my help finding him. Please, something terrible probably happened."  
But this only made Mary laugh more.  
"Oh, so your lover boy resorted to drugs again, boohoo," she spit out bitterly. "Maybe this time he does it right and we'll be rid of him for good."  
She sat down and opened her magazine again, as if nothing he might say now could be of any interest to her.

Somewhere deep inside oh John, anger started bubbling up. Forgotten was the tiredness he had felt before, pushed away the despair over Sherlock's disappearance. Right now, there was only him, Mary, and hot rage about what she had said.  
"So you wouldn't care if he dies? You'd just accept that he's gone, one of the most brilliant men in Britain, just because you're jealous or bitter because our marriage didn't work out? Are you so selfish? Oh, wait, yes you are! You killed our baby just to get attention! But you know what? I'm done with you. This time for real.  
As soon as I find Sherlock, I'll request the divorce papers. And there's nothing you can do about it, unless you want to kill me, too."

At first, John had shouted, but as he spoke on, his voice became cold and factual. There was no need to be loud, the truth was scary nonetheless.  
Mary regarded him without feelings. She closed her magazine and stood up; she looked into John's eyes with a calmness that made him shiver.

"You know what? Maybe I will," she said abruptly and then swept past him and left the room.


	35. Chapter 34

**I won't watch my life crashing down on me.**

* * *

 _Something you should know that I probably didn't add before:_

 _My whole story plays after His Last Vow, but Sherlock did not get sent away. I don't know how I explained that in my head when I started writing the story but.. I'll think of something and then rewrite the first chapters to include the explanation and hopefully a clearer indication as to when it plays. Sorry for that!_

 _Also, this chapter is way longer than the previous ones, I know. I did have the opportunity to cut it in two, but I thought I'd leave it like this and ask you: What do you prefer? Shorter chapters or longer ones? Especially with the plot I have planned, longer chapters should be doable, might take a bit longer to write though, depending on how busy I am with work and school._

 _Please let me know :) Thanks!_

 _Ronan Keating - Last Thing On My Mind_

* * *

Only when Mary had left for an hour John remembered that she had taken his phone away.

Panic started overtaking him, but then he found it on the coffee table, silently flashing to indicate he had missed a call.

Suddenly nervous, he disabled the lockscreen, expecting a message from Greg. Instead, it was a number he did not recognise.  
With shaking hands he pressed _Call back_ and waited, his beating heart almost louder than the free-line signal.

"Finally, John, I was almost scared she got her hands on you, as well."  
"Irene?" John asked, not sure if he was happy or scared it was her.  
"Yes, of course it's me, listen, we don't have much time. Cathy kidnapped Sherlock, and we both know it cannot end well.  
There's this address you need to go to, it's 51 Ranelagh Grove. Get some back up, but don't rely on the police. You need to do this yourself. That's all I can tell you.  
And John? Be careful."

With these words, she hung up and left John to decipher her message. He only knew one thing: this situation was not good at all.

Despite what Irene had said, John immediately called Greg and told him about an anonymous source and the address - he didn't want to discuss Adler with the DI now. Nothing good would come of it.  
They immediately set out to secure the area and search for clues; John was once again told to stay home and well away from the investigation.  
He let out a frustrated growl but decided to follow the orders - for now.  
He suddenly felt so tired; he hadn't really slept for two days and his body demanded rest.  
So he gave in, with the definite plan to investigate tomorrow.  
But first, sleep.

When John woke up, it was still dark outside. He didn't feel rested, but after the nightmares he'd had, he hadn't expected to be okay.  
All of that didn't matter now, though.  
He had to get to that address Irene adler had told him, and fast. He didn't know what the police had found out yet, if they had found out anything, and Irene had sounded urgent. John didn't know what scared her so much about her sister, but he was also pretty sure he didn't want to find out.  
Especially not with Sherlock as Cathy's playtoy.

He didn't check for matching clothes, just grabbed the first things he found, and splashed some water in his face.  
He didn't look into the mirror - he was pretty sure he didn't want to see the rings below his eyes.

Mary had apparently not come back yet, John briefly wondered how they would proceed now.  
He also remembered her threat as she left. Did she mean it? Or had she just said that to make him angry?  
Unfortunately, both was possible. But he couldn't hide now. He had to go and find Sherlock, and if he had to put himself in danger, then he would.

In the cab to Ranelagh Grove, he kept repeating the fight they had had the previous day, searching for indications that she knew about Sherlock or Sophie. Was Mary connected to all of this? Should he had seen it coming? Could he have prevented it?

 _Yes,_ a voice in his head said, _you shouldn't have fallen in love with Sherlock._  
John flinched. Was that true? Was he in love with Sherlock? He had never thought about it like this, but his subconscious probably knew better than he did.  
And of course, had he just paid enough attention to Mary, all of this wouldn't have happened.  
If anything happened to Sherlock, it would be all his fault.

They arrived and John almost forgot to pay the cabbie, so impatient was he to get out of the car.  
What he saw in the low light dawn brought upon the streets did not help him at all.  
He stood in front of very similar houses, one next to each other. They were built from sand-coloured stones and had shabby white roofs on their third storeys, the windows all had white frames and were almost hidden by large ivy plants that threatened to overtake the walls. The only difference John could see from one to the next house was the colour of the front door: one was red, one was green, one was black. Other than that, he could not see anything of interest here, no clue on any criminal activities or anything else that might look different.  
Had Irene told him a false address? Maybe she worked with her sister and wanted to lead them on a wrong track?  
But why would she have helped Sherlock then before? And would she go after him instead of John?

Nothing of this seemed to make any sense; and John's sleep-deprived head started to hurt. He also noticed that his leg had started acting up again, but he had left his cane at home. He hadn't needed it for years now, and he refused going back to using it again.

So he limped to the house with the number 51, the last house in the row, not surprised when he found a to him unknown, very young police officer in the doorway, just hidden from sight if looked at from the corner.

"Sorry, no civilians allowed. It's a crime scene," he told John a little gleefully, apparently not recognising him either.  
So John started improvising: "Sorry, I thought a friend of mine lived here… What crime?"  
"I can't tell you, sir, I'm sorry," the young man flushed a little.  
"Oh come on, I don't need details. Just a general heads up?"  
John tried his best puppy look, and it seemed to work. The officer's brown eyes scanned his face doubtfully, then he said in a low voice: "There's supposed to be evidence for a kidnapping in there. The neighbourhood's safe, though."

That was enough for John to know. It meant Sherlock was not in the house.  
However, there might be other evidence the police had overlooked…  
He should definitely go in there. If there was anything he had learned from Sherlock, it was that the police were bloody morons.  
Unfortunately, that included Lestrade as well, whom John had grown very fond of.

He bid the young police officer farewell and hoped they would not fire him later - after all, this wasn't his fault. This was just John being stubborn, but probably also right.

He made his way back to the corner where the cabbie had dropped him off, walking around the first house of Ranelagh Grove. If he peered over the wall, he could see that all the houses were connected by small gardens, which meant there had to be backdoors.  
Ignoring his paining leg, he hoisted himself up until he was sitting on the wall, then he gently dropped on a stone on the other side. Careful not to trample any flowers or leave any footprints on soft soil, he tiptoed through five gardens before he finally reached the last one.  
Luck was on his side: The backdoor opened with a soft click, but otherwise almost silently. John slipped through and immediately closed it behind him.

After his eyes had got accustomed to the sudden darkness, John found himself in a tiny hallway, packed full with closets and dressers. At the far end, he could make out the front door, the police officer's back was visible through the glass panels that decorated it.  
If he turned around now…  
John shook his head. He just had to work quickly, and the low light would hopefully protect him.  
It also meant he didn't see that much, of course, but he would manage. For Sherlock.

One by one, John went to the furniture pieces and opened them, trying to feel what was in or on them, pointedly not thinking about the danger he put himself in by sticking his hands everywhere.

But he didn't find anything. No clue, no trap, only dust.  
It was evident that this house either hadn't been inhabited for a long time or its residents couldn't care less about dirt.  
Suppressing a sneeze, John hoped it was the first option.

He had just finished with the hallway and wanted to open one of three doors that led to different rooms when he heard the young officer's voice.  
"Yes, sir, he was here. Asked what was going on. I don't think he just left, sir. Sorry, sir."  
The sigh that followed this statement was one John was too familiar with.  
So they had tricked him, he had to think quickly. The backdoor was no option, they would only see the light.  
He didn't know what was behind the other doors and he did not want to risk anything right now.  
That left the closets.

He went back to the one he remembered as the biggest, quickly slipped inside and pulled the door shut. His heart beat in his throat as he heard the front door open.  
"John? We know you're here. If you come out now and leave the grounds, I promise there will be no punishment. Otherwise I will have to arrest you for obstructing police investigations. Please, John, just let us do our job," Greg Lestrade pleaded loud enough for the whole house to hear. Since everything stayed quiet, it probably meant the rest of the house was empty.  
John, however, had no inclination to just give up now. Sherlock needed him and he would do his best to help him. If that meant playing cat and mouse with the police, so be it.  
The thought that he wasted important time and resources didn't even cross his mind.

He shifted his weight to prevent his left foot from falling asleep - and suddenly the wall behind him moved. John almost fell, but he managed to regain his balance just in time. In the hallway, he could hear passing footsteps and occasionally his name being called, and he decided he should check out that hole in the wall before Greg started opening the closets.

Feeling carefully at the edges, he found steps that descended into even darker darkness, and before he could think about it twice, he crept down into the hidden basement.

He faintly heard the secret door close behind him and forced himself not to panic. If this had been a trap, he had gladly walked into it if it meant a chance to deal with Sherlock's kidnapper.  
Step by step he moved down until he had lost all sense of height. He could be six feet below the ground or twenty, he wouldn't know. But suddenly his feet found flat ground, and as if on command, a soft light went on. John flinched and looked around but he was alone in the small stone cellar. There was nothing here except for the old, rusty lamp at the ceiling and the table if hung above. On the table, though, stood a box.  
John knew he shouldn't open it, he shouldn't even get closer, in case it was a bomb or otherwise dangerous.  
He really should call the police and let them investigate it…

His fingers touched the lid of the brown cardboard it was made of. It smelled dusty, matching the cool air that gave John the feeling no one had been here in decades.  
Slowly, inch by inch, he lifted it - and almost dropped it again. Nothing happened.  
He risked a closer look at the object in the box, setting aside the lid.  
Out of the box came Sherlock's coat.  
John whimpered.  
It looked crumpled and dirty and, worst of all, the sleeves were cut off. Sherlock would never have allowed his beloved coat to be treated like this, but as they had feared, he didn't have much say in it.  
John only hoed the cut off arms were not to be taken literally…

Carefully, he put the coat back in the cardboard box and picked it up with his hands inside of his sleeves. He might as well try to avoid more fingerprints, even though he guessed the object was completely clean.

Now was the question how he got out of the basement.  
He very much hoped it had not been meant as a trap, but the the coat indicated a clue; Cathy probably wanted to play some sort of game with him.  
Well, they had won against Moriarty, they could take on some Adler sister.

Even if it wasn't actually 'them', just 'he'. And it had been mostly Sherlock last time.  
John suddenly felt very lonely and hopeless.

Before he could panic or break down, he climbed up the stairs again, only flinching slightly when the light went out behind him.  
As he reached the last step, the door automatically opened itself and John found himself in the closet again.  
Very convenient.

Everything was quiet, but John still waited a couple of minutes before making his escape through the back door. He walked to the next street in the other direction, not wanting to risk meeting the police after all, now with a very suspicious box in his arms.  
But he did not relax until he was back at Mary's flat.  
Things there were still untouched, but John didn't mind. He really didn't want to face Mary again, or even just the reminder that this issue still wasn't solved.  
He really had enough on his mind right now.

He got his dusty fingerprint kit out of his wardrobe - he hadn't even used it once. He normally wouldn't even need one - Sherlock always did those parts of their investigations, John only listened and blogged - but they had agreed on him having a backup. If things got rough.  
Well, things were rough now, and it wasn't too hard to use.

It only took John thirty minutes to discover he had wasted his time.  
Cathy had been very careful.


	36. Chapter 35

**I bleed if you want me to.**

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 _Sooo, next chapter. Hope you enjoy it! It's the first chapter I typed on my new tablet (excited!) so there might be some spelling errors or so in there, but they should be only typos. Please either tell me about them or ignore them, I did not make them on purpose :3  
Next chapter is already partly written so I hope I can finish it soon and deliver to you :)  
Have fun!_

 _Bullet for my Valentine - 10 Years Today_

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Next, John looked at the coat itself. He didn't bother with fingerprints, he knew what he was going to find.

The most obvious clue were probably the missing sleeves, but John wasn't an expert. He only noticed that they were cut off, not ripped from the coat, but anyone with scissors could do that so that wasn't helpful at all.

He turned the piece of clothing around and checked for more clues but as far as he could see, this was it.

Desperation threatened to overwhelm him - how was he supposed to find Sherlock? Or had he misjudged the situation and Cathy didn't want him to look for the detective? But what could she want then?

Just then he noticed that he had forgotten the most obvious spot ever - the pockets. The outer pockets were empty but the inner one contained a piece of paper and some crumbles.

John scraped all of it on the table and took a closer look at it.

The paper turned out to be a Tesco receipt from yesterday at an address John did not recognise at all. The crumbles however…

They were red, and his first impulse was to panic again.

He forced himself to calm down. It would not do to lose his head every time something unexpected happened. Even if this was blood, it did not mean anything, and he still had to keep cool, otherwise he did not have any chance of finding Sherlock.

Further examination told him that it could not be blood anyway.

The colour was all wrong, and it was way too sturdy. Dried blood almost pulverised when taken between the fingers; whatever this was, it fell apart in small pieces and plates.

But just from looking at it, he had no idea what it was, so he had to have it analysed. Sherlock could have done it at home, but John…

He decided to call Molly. Sher definitely had the equipment and also the contacts, should she not know either. Molly would be able to help him.

As it turned out, whatever it was, it wasn't organic. Molly forwarded it to a friend of hers that analysed substances as a hobby, and promised John fast results.

To prevent himself from getting impatient, John took a cab to the Tesco that was mentioned on the receipt, but when he arrived, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to see.

The area looked completely normal, there was no indication to criminal activity whatsoever.

John entered the store and went to look at the instant coffee, which was supposed to be what "Sherlock" had bought, but when he tried to check for clues, he only tipped over the shelf.

e even asked a sales assistant if they had seen Sherlock or maybe Cathy, but no one could remember anything.

Frustrated, John went outside and watched the cars pass by. Rain started falling but he didn't notice.

Never before had he felt so helpless, and never before had he wanted Sherlock so desperately by his side.

He suddenly realised that he might never see the detective again - nothing indicated that he was still alive. It was just John's intuition that kept him going, and he had been wrong before.

As his wet feet began to freeze, he got a hold of himself - at least temporarily.

As quickly as possible he stopped a cab and directed a driver to Scotland Yard.

Greg was not the least surprised when John entered his office - he had expected him rather sooner than later. The reason had, in his head at least, been different.

John pulled Sherlock's coat out of the bad he had carried with him and asked Greg to listen before he got angry. Then he repeated what happened at the empty house (leaving out the bit that he actually ignored the DI) and asked for help.

Lestrade, however, was mainly concerned with something else.

"Are you out of your mind, John?"

He tried to keep calm, but his face reddened and he had trouble keeping his voice down.

"Not only were you withholding evidence for several hours, you could have got hurt! What if you had been trapped in the basement? We didn't even know you were there! You're no use to Sherlock if you're dead! Do you think we're telling you to stay out as a joke?

I know you've been in the army, but seriously John, I would have thought you smarter than this!"

Finally, his anger seemed to ease off and he took a couple of deep breaths.

"Please, don't do something like this again," Greg added more calmly and John nodded, a little ashamed.

The DI actually cared for him, and he had not wanted to worry him, even afterwards.

But there was still his evidence, and he wouldn't leave without having been helped by the police.

"Fine," Greg sighed, "give me a sample of the stuff and I'll have it analysed. You can come to the lab with me, it should not take long.

Oh, and give me the coat and receipt so we can test it for fingerprints."

John obeyed, not wanting to upset the DI again, and a second t couldn't hurt. Especially if it was done by professionals instead of a blogger.

On the way to the lab, John checked his phone, but Molly only wrote that her friend was super busy and had not had the time yet to have a look.

Ten minutes later, this didn't matter because the Yard's experts told them that it was a spray paint mostly used to colour bicycles and other similar metal objects.

"What the hell is that supposed to tell us?" John demanded, frustrated and desperate.

Sherlock had never used a bike since he had known him, why would they put paint in his pocket? Or was this the case of a similar metal object?

But that could be anything?

"Come on, John, we're going back to Tesco. Maybe there's a paint shop close or so."

John only nodded and followed, and with two other officers they drove back to the store that had held so little information just before.

But when they arrived, it became painfully obvious what John had missed.

Just opposite of the Tesco stood a red bicycle with chipped paint and rusted metal, lonely and forgotten.

The doctor almost shouted when he saw it but of course Greg had spotted it at the same time.

They jumped out of the car and left one officer to find a parking spot while they approached the small house in front of which it was located.

It was a fairly new building with three floors, painted a very light yellow with blue window blinds and a black front door. The bike looked way too cheap for a house like this, and way too old. But no one seemed to mind that it was stationed there, so it probably was a regular bike; or the people around here just didn't care.

The windows were dark and the blinds were drawn, so they could not see anything inside.

Without further hesitation, Greg went and rang the doorbell.

Nothing happened.

Just in case the bell might be broken he also knocked, but there still was no reaction.

"The house's been empty for years! They tried renovating but nobody wants it. Probably the smell that won't go away! a voice behind them informed them. Startled, they turned around and found an elderly woman frowning up at them.

"What do you want in there anyway? You don't look like the usual teenagers that just want an adventure, you're a bit old, aren't you?"

Without waiting for a reply, she shot them one last disapproving look and walked away.

"What…?" the officer with them - John made a mental note to ask for his name, but not right now, right now he had to get into the house - asked, but neither Greg nor John knew a fitting answer. The DI sighed.

"Well, that means we have to get a permission from the owner to enter,and who knows who that is. It's late anyway. Let's go back to the Yard, I'll issue the request and we'll have a look tomorrow."

Another day? No way!

John refused to turn back now, they could be so close to Sherlock!

Quickly, he pushed past the Detective Inspector and kicked the door in. He used enough force to splinter the frame and deform the lock, and with a loud crack, the door swung open.

"John! You can't just break in there!" Lestrade hissed but the doctor ignored him.

With wary eyes he stepped in the hallway, feeling the walls for a lightswitch.

Before he could find anything, the smell hit him. This had to be what the old lady had been talking about, and he could understand everyone that turned this building down.

It smelled like eggs gone bad, just so much worse. And was there a hint of vanilla? And maybe some dead mouse mixed in it? The combination made John gag but he held back. Vomit would only add to his nausea now.

As his fingers found the plastic at the wall, a bright lamp shone from the ceiling and blinded him, but otherwise nothing happened. It almost felt too easy.

"Why is the power still working? I thought it had been empty for a while?" muttered the officer but John shushed him.

Slowly, he ventured forward with his arm pressed to his nose, even though it did not completely hold back the smell. He completely ignored the posh furniture around him, he doubted the dressers held anything of interest.

"John…" Greg started but didn't finish his sentence. He seemed to know that there was nothing that could stop the doctor.

His soft steps then followed John into the house and after a small gasp and some short retching sounds he told the officer in a quiet voice to guard the entrance.

As the door shut behind them, John was grateful that he was here with the DI instead of hiding from him.

"You look through here, I'm going upstairs," John said and didn't wait for an answer. He had spotted the stairs at the end of the corridor and almost ran to the next floor, taking two steps at a time.

This hallway looked uncannily like the lower one, with the same closets and dressers, just the carpet was blue instead of grey. John started at his position, opening all the drawers and doors, checking for fake walls and bottoms, but nothing weird presented itself.

So he started looking into the rooms, already cursing the small-looking house for actually being so big and detailed.

He found a bathroom and two bedrooms as well as a small storage, but all were empty. That only left the third floor, unless Greg had already found something, but then he surely would have alerted John.

The stairs creaked as he stepped onto them, and as he was halfway up, a bad feeling overcame him. It felt to him that the atmosphere changed, from rich and waiting to abandoned and desperate.

John took a deep breath, then he opened the door that sealed the upper floor.

A flood light turned itself on, illuminating the single room John found himself in. The floor and walls were covered in dark wood, a lonely window at the back failed to light the area due to the amount of dust and dirt that occupied its glass. Occasionally, a beam supported the ceiling from the ground, otherwise the room was empty.

Except for the cardboard box directly under the floodlight.

It was the same box as in the other house, and John didn't know if he was supposed to be relieved or devastated.

On one hand, this meant that he had to solve more puzzles to get to Sherlock, and he had so desperately wanted him to be here.

On the other hand, it also indicated that Cathy really toyed with him, which meant she would - most likely, hopefully - not kill Sherlock. It both saved them time and forced then fo hurry more.

Instead of directly opening the box, John called Greg. The DI immediately responded and speeded up both stairs, just to stand next to John and look at the ominous box, gasping for breath.

John cursed. He was really getting tired of this game.

"All right," Greg panted, "I'll get Ol upstairs and he can check the box and the surroundings for us. We are not taking any risk, just in case they're counting on you being stupid again."

He gave John a stern look before pulling out his walkie-talkie and calling the third officer - Ol - to them. The doctor flushed a little but he didn't regret opening the first nox. It wouldn't have done them any good otherwise.

Ten minutes later, fingerprints were deemed nonexistent and the box was announced safe to open. With trembling hands, John lifted the lid.

The smell of wool and smoke immediately reached his nose and he had to count to three to prevent a panic before he could look at the contents.

In the box was Sherlock's scarf, neatly folded. John didn't dare to touch it, but officer Ol already had an evidence bag ready and carefully tucked the piece of cashmere away. While he retreated, John still could not move, staring at the empty box that held no visible clue to Sherlock's whereabouts.

A hand on his arm made him jump but it was just Greg who said: "Come on, John. Let's go to the lab and have this analysed."

The cardboard lid fell to the floor with a clatter; John hadn't even noticed that his fingers had relaxed. Numbly, he followed the DI down the stairs, out of the house, back into the car.

It had been five days since he had last seen Sherlock, and quite possibly the same time since Sherlock had been kidnapped. The chances of finding him would only grow slimmer the longer they took, even with the new evidence.

And the chances of him being okay…

John did not want to think about it.

In his head, he thought about the future he had imagined for them and the joy he had felt when he had realised what he wanted.

He thought about the kiss they had shared that had held so many and so few promises.

Those thoughts kept him busy until they arrived, and he was grateful for that.

As they stood around a table, the evidence bag in the middle of it, neither of them dared to open it. Finally, Greg sighed and pulled some rubber gloves out of his pocket.

Hesitantly, he took the scarf out of the plastic bag and laid it out in its full size. The first thing that John noticed were the fringes that pointed directly at him.

They were not of the same length anymore.

Most of them were burned.


End file.
